Between worlds

Days are conduits, channelling
the photons coursing from the sun,
inundating dim expanses,
levelling the vertical,
dispersing gilded granules
across continental surfaces.

Only certain kinds of memory
can arrest light's swift advance,
sudden pools of shadow
that resist their harsh antithesis,
dark pebbles that escape the tide
to nestle blindly in the hand.

Nights are nebulae whose clouds
gleam strangely, fish in moonlit seas
where dreams are borne on rafts of algae,
sleep breaks up on rocks and reefs
as dense, disturbing imagery coheres
and ghoul-winds rave and rant.

Some nights, in a maelstrom
that recalls its past,
sand melts to glass,
a lens of calm lucidity
through which exquisite visions pass;
the vortex of annihilating wind subsides,
fears dissipate, and in the hush
I lie in hypnagogic reflexivity,
to catch the cries of things unborn
before they harden into form.

In shadows soft as down, the edges
blurring, merging between worlds…