Wakening

Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash

Night unravels the flying carpet.
Sense drops to his knees
on sandbags of self-doubt.

Paisleys of worry cling
to remnants of sleep,
useless as a bohemian.

What happens when the net
of fresh butterflies
is upended?

How long will it be
before the house of cards
topples into obscurity?

You may as well monitor
that gray cloud, passing
overhead in a silent film.

Watch how it changes
from bull, horns pointed
towards tomorrow’s reel

of you, to laughing cow,
offering its milk for free
in exchange for freeing

both of you from
needing release of
what’s superfluous,

to allow the weepings
of metamorphosis
to land, lightly.