The dream narrator
jumps in after I've confronted a spectator.
Boldly and suddenly there is a pronouncement
of where I am and who I am speaking with.
The narrator speaks as a teacher.
Then there is a pop,
like fire in glass.
I continue to laugh like
this is some sort of divine joke,
but I'm simply told that I need
to take this seriously.
This world I continue
to terrain is not just
a place in which to juggle
until the sky escapes me.
I wonder, what does it matter
that I am an entrant,
playing with the elements
of this narrated truth.
It's still quite impossible to get
others to follow me up the mountain where
I have seen the immaculate beauty of the
stone flowers.
© Jan 2010 Sonja J. Johnston
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