Dreaming hour

Upon the late hour,
the fog and mist settles in and tucks my bones
into a soft sense of belonging
so I may sleep at once.
But no sooner do I close my eyes
then fantastical bright lights,
the colors that used to dress my body and flow through
my veins and out the cuts in my arms,
are dancing off into some distant masquerade.
In one scene
cutting through the fog that is now a sea
a shark is there.
And he moves so carelessly to and fro
gently cutting the waves. Suddenly he is by me
my hair extended in a hello, and
with an understanding, he passes.

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