Dream Lenses

I had a dream today.

Hand in Hand, we flew
over the frost-tipped mountains;
we swooped and darted
in and out of the hollows, that dotted the peaks
like freckles [or scars] on weather-worn children.
We chased one another
until, exhausted, we collapsed
on the banks of a near-by stream.
Breathing heavily, we threaded our fingers
through the newly-sprung blades;
We grasped the ground, knuckles-white,
feeling the warmth of the earth
seeping into us, rooting us, briefly.
We watched as a school of salmon
leaped upstream
and defied nature, for nature’s sake.
We clamored down to the water’s edge
and bent forward, noses almost submerged,
to glimpse the creatures skimming and skittering
across the liquid surface,
leaving only the slightest trace,
a Rippling of existence.
We tried to follow them
as carefully as possible,
but our weight, even in dream, was too great
and we tumbled into the icy creek.
We resurfaced shrieking as we jumped
out of our skin.
We left them there, our former shells,
as we took to flight,
soaring high above the landscape once again.
A chill still lingered,
but we flew fast and hard,
starring straight into the sun
without blinking.
Eyes-watering, we continued;
the world became a pin-prick
behind us—undistinguishable.
On still, we flew,
until a brief emptiness loomed before us,
and we took our place,
Hand in Hand.

A splinter of heaven.