In sleep, that Homer called death’s little brother

~ After “I took my way down, like a messenger, to the deep,” Leonora Carrington; 1977

What are those lights flashing red and blue
in darkness? Herald of an accident, abduction,
a death; a body camera turned on to record

one grainy testament after another? A rain
of colored fragments streams from dark

lanterns that keep our dreams. The soul,
they say, travels from one depth to another,
calling out to all its familiars even as it

negotiates escape. Take care not to grow
more weighted in your descent— touch

the spirals of time set into the walls
and flex your toes in readiness: at rock
bottom, push off and aim for a distant marble

that could be the moon, or the light it poured
into a basin someone left at the window.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.