Dear Duality

In dreams, sweet dreams, I, battened down...in teasel and excelsior, cedar duff and milkweed fuzz...with mugwort hung in hemp'd bags from little strings...to keep my dreaming soft and sound.

I wake to stiff and aching bones, to lume of sunrise all around...and birdie song, an aged man, somewhat aside...except for they that care for me within this tomb...of physicality.

I say, 'of they', though they are one...I call him, 'my dear father', he 'my son'. They gather me to fields of day and night of dreams so, I am never really far from peace...or ever all alone.

Namaste


Written by Bruce James Clyde, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: baby in a manger, google pic