Sometimes, I let him sleep and leave through the backdoor.

That's where the dreams come from, uninterrupted;

I try not to touch them, let them do their magic,

while I'm doing mine;

looking at the clouds and seeing shapes of ships to take me home,

far away in the distant airless sky.

It's the morning that brings the deepest slumber, the strangest thought.

Sometimes I let him

live and I enter through the front door.

That's how he knows I'm still here and not

on the board of the ship that sales into the sun.

I become the ship, I become the sun.

And another day gently bursts through the door.

*написано для творчої практики у нашій спільноті.
//
written after the creative monhly prompt in our little society.