The Last Bright Shreds

May 25 2010

When we scrape the bottom with our toes
and pray to God that our lungs don’t go
When we wake to find it wasn’t a dream
and the crushing weight is just what it seems

When our fingers curl around the last bright shreds
and all logic screams, “it must stay in your head!”
The colors tight beneath my fingers
Celebrate like old soul singers

A start and stop, a call and holler
Herky jerky Brooklyn baller
Through dizzy twists and turns go I
The last bright colors are my guide

And soon they burst in vast array
My tiny scraps a quilt display
I knew for more than that I’d come
These dreams weren’t placed for perverse fun

Perseverance of the saints
Is not just hope of heaven’s gates
It is the hope of dreams down here
Will you share yours? I have ears.

I will share my dreams and fears.

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