Stalagmite Dreams

This old house creaks in the shadows of early morning,
echoes and pops like dripping water from stalactites.

This is my cave,
My sofa, a bed of stone.
Looking within, I find that I am no longer afraid of the inner hard space.
The sun will find me here.

So I lean back into the moist dark and listen as dreams are gently
on my upturned face.


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