Dreams hand out armfuls of antidote to that mixed-up mixture restoring that which waking tries to destroy.
A nightingale, brown dot from an eagle's eye, flies serenely through summer's open window to alight on my hand, feet like whispers trusting no fat cat is here. Then beak open, unlocked out of love, a melody soars from a field of agony ' so fragile, so strong, shooting stars into bright places for a world that sleeps and dreams of peace.
