the origin of dreams
Way down the sightless, slumbering wastes
of a moonless mind, anchored in the hollow
like a thumbnail crab in the pink slides
of a conch’s heart, awaits a silver sailing ship
of solitary, drowning voyages
borne on currents of rushing memory.
Once nightly, there steals a flashing spine
of light, forged from realization
piercing blue rolling waves and streaking
through undersea mountains.
This illumined eel invades the subconscious
and corrals all thought into a whirling torrent
whipping the helm clockwise and releasing
the sleeping barge from ancient reefs of fear.
In this way, the ship roams a lifetime of years.
From The Opulence Of Invention. Copyright © 2018 E. P. Mattson, All Rights Reserved.