On the edge of a dream I stand between the dawn and the night.
I'm not sure if I am to go forward into the bright morning or backward into the warm still shadows.
My eyes are barely open and the beams of morning on the air are more like golden ribbon.
They wrap themselves around everything like a vine around an ancient tree.
Behind me the stars are tiny dots in the sky and seem to pulse with the beat of my heart.
In the shadow of night there is a symphony of quiet.
My breath is lost in the vastness of the world around me.
My heartbeat fades until there is only the quiet, the all inclusive quiet.
There is no golden ribbon to wrap around my lost ambition or quiet surrender.
I close my eyes and slide further into the shadow of the night.
The dream has become a haze of memory and imagery.
Like a splash of oil paint in a pool of crystal clear water.
Each bead losing cohesion in it's struggle to hold together.
My eyes are tired and the ribbons are growing closer.
The stars above...