Morning dangles from my fingertips
as I wake still half-submerged
in my dream’s disruptive cocoon.
Though the sun
weaves a path through the clouds,
i can still taste the unfurled potency
of Morpheus’s playground
etching jagged pockmarks
into the dream-stained day.
The golden haze of first blush
beckons, radiating reassurance
but i, unassured
still blink reverie shards
from troubled lashes.
Seed sharp roots murmur of elsewhere,
ruthlessly teasing my mind’s edges
as they sketch
illegible writings on the wall,
in a gambler’s glimpse
of the space between worlds.