 TALKING,
THE MOON..............
DW Bender, US
Mid-July
night. Deadlines—end of the month
is near for the publication.
Still some magazine pages to
finish. A couple manuscripts left to receive.
I stay awake again until almost
3 a.m. In
my sleep, my
ghost wanders through fields
of neurons.
Comets.
Synapses.
Meteorites.
Have I forgotten something? The
moon is
murmuring from
behind heavy clouds.
Spoken in
light
waves,
a language almost familiar enough to
understand. When I
half-awaken, my
dreams
are with me,
as if they are events of
my waking-life. I
wonder—where are
those
things that I've
misplaced or
forgotten in my
dream?
How could I have
forgotten?
The room is dark. The
blinds are shut.
The d r
e a
m
d
i s
s o l
v
e s
, and I brush the f r a
g m e n t s from my mind.
Nothing is lost
except for
sleep.
LE
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