They’ll come for me again
In the dark.
When I close my eyes
My dreams teem with the undead
Choices I have yet to make and
Faces that return from decades passed
Loom at out me through crooked ruins.
I am a seeker of stories through the night
I live the fear so I may learn to write.
Dreams are a constant blessing to me
They remind my heart what is significant
By contrasting what is not.
I give thanks to the dream-weaver…
I give also nighttime and a blank slate.