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The Dream
We stand at the lip of the cliff
you and I, watching the rise and fall
of the waves, listening to the roar
of the surf
far below, in the cool of the dawn
breeze.
Dimly heard, tugging, compelling, is
the call
of the free people, the singing birds
one sees
through the crystal dome far
overhead, the remains
of a dying earth's flying wildlife.
Suddenly, on the horizon, where dawn
stains
the sky with crimson, the sun rises
above the heaving
black depths. You and I share a
brief
kiss, and then step over the
edge. Leaving
the ground-grubber's existence behind
us
we soar out over the waves. The
air
thunders in our ears as we pass,
and we howl in delight at the freedom
we feel. We drop to skim the
crests, and flair
our wings as we near the base of the
dome,
so that we dump speed to safely pass
beneath
the arches supporting it above the
waves.
The columns and arches flash by with
room to spare, and we climb into the
sky,
turning inland as we do. Below
us
the dome gleams like a crystal ball,
and the city
on the cliff face turns golden with
the sun's light.
and then I woke up.
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