The Raft of Your Dreams

(For Emily, my Muse)

Beyond the last turn, down a winding path.
There’s a house on a pier by the sea, with a raft.
A welcoming light, there beckons you in,
Where maritime charts and tables of tides,
Seaworthy things, never met by your eyes,
A stack on the table is joined by a sign.
It’s written in some kind of ancient line.
But you know that its meaning, means something like this.
“We sail when you’re ready, returning at dawn.
No need for a ticket, but please bring a yawn.”

The raft slips the mooring, the sails are filled,
By a gentle wind urging, your mind to be stilled.
Your berth invites you, calling in peace,
As the rudder by magic, now steers on with ease.
There you can rest from the stress of the day,
Hardly sensing the light as it slips away.
Your mind starts drifting, you stare to the stars,
Musing the features of Pluto and Mars.
You wander through wonders too countless to note,
At last your sleep deepens, with dreams as result.

Scented islands, in small clustered groups,
Where spices are ground, from dry fragrant roots.
The sweet smell of rain on a still summer’s night,
Watching the sparks from a camp fire bright.
Aromas of leaves, piled to burn in the woods,
In Autumn’s bazaar there are all kinds of goods.
A bright market stall, selling trinkets and treats,
And wonders of basketry, china and sheets of
Handmade papers of all kinds of hues,
Specifically made, and especially for you.
For sketching and painting and stories to write,
Telling those who might read them of all these delights.

But wait, you’re now turning to cross stormy weather,
A new set of coastlines, with cliffs topped with heather,
And huge waves that crash and that beat on the rocks,
Of a headland that barely can stand to these shocks.
Now washed on the shore of a steep sandy beach,
Your dream calls a friend, though neither can speak.
Breakers of white frothing surf surge the strand,
As silently walking you cross, hand in hand.
And reaching the point that is farthest from harm,
At last you feel safe and that all can be calm.
Holding each other for warmth and for comfort,
And safety and hope and in case it’s not true.
Neither quite sure if the other is real,
Two dreamers paths cross, as dawn breaks through.

And waking refreshed, you hold fragments of dreams,
Things that you know of, but never have seen.
Knowledge of languages long since ignored,
And memories of journeys and places explored.
But who was that mystery friend in the dream,
The one that the dream called when things got extreme?
Who shared and halved and then quartered your terrors,
And how was it he could ignore all your errors?
Why did you need him and what was his role,
Maybe he’s just some old odd random soul?
But later that day, what struck you as odd,
Like the sand on your shoes from the beach you’d forgot.
There in the pocket of yesterday’s jeans,
A free pass for two to the Raft of Your Dreams.

(09.10.23)