I close my eyes
Is that to become illusory
Furnished by wine
I peruse the changing lights
The samba and the rumba
The floating dance floor
Into the darkened light
Of my imagination
There without furniture
Without walnut or cherry
Or pine or mahogany or timber
Or sawn up packing crates
I am still without walking
Movement now being delusory
Without desire
A pause in the journey
A reflection of the sunrise
Sunsets set in past pastures
Into the lightness of being
Deep streams of clear water
Thoughts of worthwhile tasks
There to be undertaken
Thoughts of the workings
The undone workings of love
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