Dreamsickness (Sean Ali)

Dreamsickness

Your gentle breathing is quietly weaving
            a tapestry of sound and stillness
While the rising sun bleeds the snow red
            with the agony of dawn
And this fragile sighing which aches
            with the constant denying
Of this star-bruised memory,
            of a throbbing sorrow,
                        a dreamsickness,
That tingles to the marrow
            and is rapid as a stream’s quickness
Fools that follow a faltering fate,
            a weary-woven tapestry of
                        of stasis and momentum
            that no light can penetrate