Behind my closed eyes
images form on black,
an illustration for the music —
big wheel rolling, big cogs turning

I wonder about light in dreams,
how it comes in, at what point
my mind decides it sees,
and when and how the vibrant colors
tune themselves into being

I’ve been journeying again —
errant socks lost
in the picking up to move —
some caravan, its character
mostly unremembered,
The trundling of the dream
interrupted
and so quickly left behind
with the dawn.

©Wendy Mulhern
November 9, 2014