Dream Fragments

Opening the latch, my mind flits out through sleep’s window, roams in a glimmer. As the elephants chase me, I dart like a Norway rat. My legs lose quick pace, when mind returns my body. Red tiled roof of my old school… a pair of eyelashes darkened with mascara…sidelong glance… All are broken. My dad hails, but his words scatter far away from my ears. He flies in the sky. Mind follows, but falls upon my body by dawn. The moonlet falls, its stem broken, and the stars collide into pieces. Soon all disappear in sweat in a flash. I drink water from the fear-fall. A few dreams lie deep under like fossils; others vanish as butterflies. First printed in issue #16 of The Literary Hatchet (Pear Tree Press, US)