Clinging to the Moonlight
The moon is full and your dreams reflect it,
full of wildness and strange landscapes,
unexpected visits from dead people
and light, always just enough light
to see the rock strewn path,
stones glistening like bread crumbs.
You revel in these dreams, hating
the moment your body insists on waking,
wrenching you away from the fantasy
that seems more real than real,
clinging to the moonlight
for just a few more moments.
About this poem.
I don’t know if the moon is full or not (It has been cloudy here in Vermont), but my dreams have been particularly vivid, leaving that moment between sleep and wakefulness a confusing moment as I sort out which is which,