The afterimage of a dream

The Paths of the Spirit

I fear the deafening quiet
Of hungry light.
My lawless longing walking
Barefooted along
An abandoned beach,
The sound of thoughts
Like waves intruding,
Washing out its own image
And retracting
Into oblivion.
I can see it in the afterimage
Of a dream
A pathway of stars like paw prints
On the washed out surf
Showing me how to decipher
The unsilhouetted silence
Hiding behind all things born
And revealed.
The red tint of myself gleaming
Weakly on the broad wordless
Horizon.

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