These words will deliberately slip beyond their allotted meaning
I was woken by you when my dream was still replaying the same message
Once in cohort or contrast as if they were not words at all or have
Any meaning between us is but a seed of what we mean when we have
Any meaning at all, once beyond the influence of their consorts,
Coherence and confluence around a rationalised relation to a set of plans
Once they are but a blade of grass in a dusty desert
If in my dream, I dreamt alone that you would wake me
Meaning only that possibility of meaning that is a lawn
Once the thoughts in my dream meant the same
as the thoughts you would share
Or the sand particle that lays in the fold of a leaf
Which may just be what lay in your mind as you woke me
Awaiting the breeze that would scatter seeds
Thinking to move me from my single thought, that message that blew
Across the oceans that isolate the continents
Into the oblivion of a void full of nearly remembered memories
In a manner that thoughts cannot
When thought by a single mind, never shared or viewed by you
Being tied to the mind that awaits the breeze
Until you were the mind that brought the breeze
That would disperse into itself meaning,
That meant you understood me by the way my dream was
Being neither cohesive nor comprehended
Shared and yet but a blade of grass in a dusty desert, no more, and yet,
Any more than a seed awaiting the breeze
Capable of revealing the lawn where we would sit and express the plan
That would reveal the blade in the desert
As but a bunch of isolated thoughts that shows us the lawn
Or the leaf that hides the sand in its fold, could comprehend itself
Where we comprehend the other once I am woken and see my dream.
As anything but a single entity outside the influence
Outside the meaning you woke me for, to scatter the influence
Of its consort and devoid of meaning, but for a breeze
That wakes me and
That picks up the particle of sand out of the fold of the leaf
Settles me into the sand of a dusty desert
Or bends to and fro, the leaf of grass, as the sand holds its seed.
About the Creator
Gregory Broadbent
I am 53, live in Melbourne, Australia, with my wife and two teenagers. I work as a counselor and tarot reader in North Melbourne and have been writing poetry and prose for over 35 years.
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