words detach themselves from the page
and crawl, unbidden, into his ears,
whispering in the lost forgotten
half-bled hour before dawn.
stick-written in sand on
an ancient shore in his mind,
they disappear with the tide
of consciousness in the daylight,
shapes drawn by fingertips down
the condensation of a windowpane.
sleep pressed its thumbs on his eyelids,
the gap between worlds yawned wide
as his future and he drifted into a dream
as if carried on a wave out to sea.
Photo by Belinda