Dreams are a geography,
Another world neither here
Nor in the brain’s receptors.
We are alternate inhabitants,
Natives of many layers.
The birds too,
Who know all the wind’s dimensions:
Night squall, summer’s breath of fire,
The star-encrusted glyphs
Of winter air.
A thousand different dialects
Spoken and maintained.
When we love this world
In all its iterations
We start to hear
A compendium of vaster things.
Far from waking
There are flowers that only bloom
For the drunk and heavy sleepers.

Zetetic separator

—Seth Jani currently resides in Seattle, WA, and is the founder of Seven CirclePress. His own work has been published widely in such places as The Coe Review, The Hamilton Stone Review, and Hawai’i Pacific Review. He has a penchant for medieval history and pet rabbits. More about him and his work can be found at www.sethjani.com.

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