Dream

We fly like kites in a sky of our being, moved by breezes of air, like sighs.
There it is
That strange breathing
with breaths that come from
mouths other than our own
yet spur us to live more than any respiration could.

There are tears now. Transparent embodiments of finality. They fall and splash and explode, like bombs. They shatter walls, foundations of the mind.

Now earthquakes, from the epicentre of doubt. They all move together, as waves.
Where did the moon go for us all? Obliterated in sentient thought, there is no more security in tide, nor clear reflected guiding light a star.

Earthquakes still.
They shake like hands.