As I birth, so I draw
this first breath
through my reflection,
no features yet.
No memory to spoil.
Newtonian forces
ripple the fluid
that holds all,
in divine tension.
To wonder aloud,
alone and pointless,
as if in
a dream or yet now
awake.
Like Alice pulled,
then stretched long.
From the mirror
to the looking glass room.
As her old times cling
distorting memories,
of her left behind world.
Once stories and
dreams ran freely,
before language gripped
and took our sight.
Wondering at last,
near death
what if, and
will the dream
continue alone.
The remnants lie in
stranger’s eyes,
a leaf that blows
all wrong.
A thing that cannot be,
a dream detection.
©️ Dai Fry 28th May 2020.