I stand on the edge of the sea

The dry basin, with the ghosts of blue waves

Stretching out to the end of time.

The shore there lies stagnant


each grain of sand



a bit lower than the last;


A misguided staircase





That lost its destination.



As the dream shifts

in its daze

It takes on the shape

of an orb.

The endless dry bowl

Unfolds to the Earth’s curve;


a spheroid


a bubble


an apparition of perfection

waiting patiently to burst.



When I awake,

I know there will be a sea

filled with blue, not yet a ghost.


But for the moment

All I can see is an

empty vessel


waiting for

the awakening

of those

who left it so.