8.20

the dog sleeps with his head against

the cellar step door. huffs and the

occasional twitch of a foreleg paw

telling the story of his inner life. a

puppy once again, chasing.

I sleep now with my head propped

two pillows high, the occasional

snork telling of snoozers anonymous

that I knew not of, ‘till my wife said

do something about it.

innocence was what I saw in my

children’s sleep. little faces turned

to the sky as if internally connecting

to grace abounding, their hearts

resounding a heavenly place.

take us away now in all of our dreams

to places that move us and swim

along streams of consciousness

bespeaking our inner selves. in

and out breathings of deep indigo truth.

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