A poem I dreamt I wrote
On tumbling down a sandy crag,
Lines beneath sleep’s blustery flag,
Where clouds reflected seemed to float.

The substance was immediate then,
As wave-tips with the drifts would wend,
Yet now sands near and foreign blend
Homogenous times, where sea meets men.

And I as I write this record now,
A keepsake as that feeling lands,
I wonder what had made these sands
Where I wake, where words drown.