Recurring Dream

I stumble from a ladder,

mis-stepping through a rung —

preoccupied, peering up

to some lofty destination,

a change of venue for star-gazing.

During the thrill of ascension,

I loosen my grip, testing

if some trinity might rescue me.

And I fall, dream after dream,

each time I reach the REM —

stratum by stratum, through ice crystals.

Snagged in the belly of combed clouds

I release all I am into wind

free-falling as a piano tinkles

a light-hearted etude.

— Sam Barbee

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