The Somnambulists
I go walking in other people’s dreams.
Discretely I roam, a ghost among ghosts,
nameless the password, nameless the realm.
Skies churn clouded, fogs trouble thought,
tremors tell of transience and sorrow.
We meet in stairwells, bedrooms, bars.
Eyes speak our stories—they cannot lie.
Our hands touch in gentle affirmation,
their strivings mere shadows on a wall.
Words we whisper congregate in corners:
only there can we know their meanings.
Silence dogs our footsteps. We try,
but cannot outrun, the buffet of its waves.
Have you found a way? we ask each other.
Dare we hope?
The rooms of our eyes hold no answers,
yet we keep to our circuits, unabashed,
some strange chemistry emboldening us
like blooms by a dark moon swayed.
No dimensions constraining, nor weathers,
we pass, pale tinctures of ourselves,
dreams ruffling like pages in books.
Shall we emerge into light?
Through lean existence we drowse,
legends of morning teasing our ears.
- © Darrell Petska 2020
Darrell Petska is a writer from Madison, Wisconsin. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Buddhist Poetry Review, Nixes Mate Review, Right Hand Pointing, Boston Literary Magazine, Verse-Virtual and Loch Raven Review. His published work and upcoming publications can be viewed at conservancies.wordpress.com
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