Lucid Waking

Greg Gildersleeve

·Dec 9, 2020

A poem for the morning

i want to bask

in the comfort

of oblivion

sweet surrender

in the embers

of fled dreams

their tiny massage

— so fragile, like petals in fall —

whispers

then gone . . .

my space heater

my champion

suspends the dawn air

my life story laid bare

on the nightstand

i rise

in spirit

if not in flesh