“Have you ever glimpsed upon the garden of dreams?”
I remember the voice in the clearing as the figure moved
Across the clouds, unfazed, passing from one mist to the other
In an astounding light. In the horizon, the sky was blinding, the
Sheer blue of it seeping through
Fingers until it all conglomerated into a pool of infinity.
Perhaps blue is so vast that it is endless? That blue flowers
Do not, in truth, exist—even nature’s limitless
Boundaries cannot fathom the infinite blue?
And each time the voice rang, I recalled falling into the sky;
The deep blue embraced all memories I held—
It became warm. It became warmer than the scorching sun.