Once, I wished I could sleep forever. And then the nightmares came.
Upon waking, I wasn’t sure that my eyes had ever really opened.
I remember lying in a crib seeing the shadows swirl and dance in solid form.
I was horrified that they were so overjoyed.
Look into my eyes, misty as the grey beyond the shore,
Darker than the water at night.
And deeper still,
Unknowing of my deepest depth, unfeeling of my widest shore,
Swirling, swirling.
And now I shake and tremble, cold and alien, the restless ground shaking beneath the moon.
A cold that does not touch your skin, yet draws out of it, and emptiness colder than any vapor.
A harshness beneath your feet, so sifting, which draws blood and fetters flesh with its razor composure.
A reflection staring back at you from the waters, darker than your own. You think you can see something underneath it, so you draw your hand in, causing ripples cold as dew.
Your touch disturbs the shimmering deep, and you, for certain, see something beneath the waters this time. It draws you in and you are soaked, the dripping water, colder than ice, on the wind.
Your fingers swirl deeper, deeper, for balanced against the wind this water is warmer.
It’s darkness draws you in.
But its reflection was all you saw, and answers came but more questions they unwound.
To see the cold and starry sky beneath the mirror of the waters, as if for the first time.
How like a portrait it is, when viewed through the naked eye, a blue canvas stuck with shimmering stars.
Yet beneath, you see the depth of the sky, questing to see again when you look up.
You think, you say it is an illusion, that the sky is flat, but only when you look down can you see its depth.
