Seeking his shadows through dark streets
Where roads are lined with grey leaves, shape dust scattered,
He sleep-wakes; he traces lit up lines from their birth to death.
His fingers take them back
When eyesight ends. Chilled by the chase
He frames their forms in flesh, those
Pictures placed in loved moulds, they’re cradled
In the somewhere room
behind his eyes. Still holding something closely, longing,
Here he is, dream-chaser, real,
Alive in beautiful shade-ghosts.
It takes this dream-chaser, dream-seer,
lover of the dreams, to seal shut night
And kiss the dawn with cleansing words
And help us bear the truth.