~ After For Once, Then, Something, by Robert Frost
In sleep I breathe two worlds, straddle
time. Behind my eyes, shapes mutate
like Picasso at work:
profile, forehead, facets of a pink lip
darkening to claret, a three-fingered
hand turned,
breast reversed, angled planes pivoting
to the next, each seeming to ask
when? now?
Fog tremors the chilly sky, drifts
from folds of earth. A solitary shrub
appears in mist,
arms of a tree, curving bands of thicket,
roof tiles. My eyelids quiver—
lapis flashes,
streaks of deep orchid ambers, pearls.
Indelible.
Something.