Your vision will become clear

only when you can look into your own heart.

Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes.

--  Carl Jung




Half awake, near dark 

trying to recall what my mind was trying to tell me 


dreams of flying,  as I remember sliding down a hill

dreams of swimming underwater, as I recall so many afternoons sitting on a dock


standing at the bottom of a long staircase

looking up towards the top of a lighthouse


An art gallery with blank walls and empty benches 

A symphony, from an orchestra that no longer plays music 


the voice of someone I talked to for hours

now mute 


All of these are echoes,  all of them waves

of an ocean I cannot see across