A Dream

Running through the field gawkily, I release myself to the moment:

twirling, spinning, twisting. The sun blinds me, 

and I tumble onto the grass-

a bundle of skewed limbs. 

Breathing heavily, I notice for the first time

the perfection of the sky's 

blue. My carelessly sprawled body is so incongruous-

am I here at all? Six months in the future or past, 

a single snowflake drifts towards my forehead, 

surrendering to the fall 

of its own raw pattern. Why do we attempt to copy the pure beauty 

of its dance, when we will never reach the honesty with which it flutters 

to the ground? Cold encases me and white surrounds me, while sunshine

illuminates the scene and grass frames it. How can

two scenarios play out in the same moment? 

Neither 

must be occurring.

Reviews

[Ruth]

This is an interesting poem friend, I like it:) Thought provokingly surreal:) xx