She feels full and high…
but dreams herself chocolate,
plucking music from tight strings…
dreaming Songs to keep in an earthen jar.
She feels empty and low…
but dreams herself silver,
clad in light,
brightening the night’s dark…
dreaming Light to free over the land.
The beast lurks in-between;
Song and Light… hunger nagging in his gut,
“Bite, rip, feast!” taste dark moon flesh, swallow brightness,
delight in being awake and alive and real;
eat dream or dreamer, mayhap, the lurking Self.
The Sleeping Gypsy, 1897, by Henri Rousseau
for Magpie Tales 209