It's Still Life

Doors in a Dream (or a Vague Certainty)

It’s the closed door into my dreams.
Small and brown, the colour
of chestnut eyes. Or an old skin drum.
Wisdom opens its door.

Its opposite side is a mirror.
No doorknob.
Only a long reflection, lacking
wisdom. I open the door.

Time is brave on the other side,
perforated. Like a screen door.
Dogs and cats always getting out.
It seems wisdom knows no door.

I’m asleep in this dream, waiting
for light to matter. Light opens
the door on wisdom and on

the mysterious solitude of things
where everything is vaguely certain.

This piece isn’t intended to make sense. It’s the stitching and unpicking of random thoughts, just as dreams don’t make sense. The prompt: A line will take us hours maybe; yet if it does not seem a moment’s thought, our stitching and unstitching has been naught. (Wlm B Yeats)

These poems/prose are draft versions, written in participation of Miz Quickly’s prompts and Writers’ Digest (Poetic Asides) November poem-a-day challenge. The aim: to produce a chapbook for submission. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter. AI artwork is mine.