There’s an old woman in my dream.
She lives in a little house by a river all by herself.
She holds everyone’s answers.
She keeps all the answers in neatly labelled boxes stacked side by side.
But no matter how hard I look I never find the answers to my questions.
So she tells me to visit the river and look into its depth.
So I crunch on the gravel and stand on the shore line staring.
The image of myself stares back.
The river runs very fast.
I know there are no answers there.
But I can see them on the opposite shore line.
There are pages with words written all over them in black ink fluttering in the wind.
Threatening to blow away.
The pages hold my answers.
They flutter ever higher, urging me to reach them before they disappear forever.
But the river runs very fast.
And the river is very wide.
There is no way across.
I can see them flutter so close.
My image stares back at me from the river depth.
I lean out to catch the pages, to hold my answers.
And fall into the image of myself staring from the watery depths.
I turn my dreams into poems or short abstract writings…….I guess here is another one……