Dreamscape

scattered, helter-skelter images
played across his mind
like a black and white movie.
memories danced in and out
of focus in an unorganized,
hap hazard waltz.
these images were so random
that the logic was no apparent.
logic?
the logic was like those clocks
painted by Salvador Dali—
logic gone so soft that it
laid over the branches of trees
like worn, old throw rugs.

he saw her—
pale, cold, distant—
across the ice of the lake.
he heard a sharp crack
and anxiously looked down.
a wide crack had split the ice
and was making its way
towards her feet.
he cried out, “Look out!”
but it was too late.
the ice cracked out
towards her and
opened up to free water,
swallowing her.

he panicked,
looking for a rope,
a branch,
anything he could use
to pull her out of that
icy grave.
not finding anything,
he turned around to
run towards the house.
a scream escaped his lips
as he came face to face
with the woman who’d just
fallen, her fingers cold as twigs
after a hard frost caressing his cheek.

he froze.
was she dead?was this just her ghost?
he tried to run,
but his legs wouldn’t
carry him having turned to jelly.
he tried to push the
apparition away, but
his arms felt too heavy to move.
she reached out again, this time for his throat,
and he thought he was going to die…
until he awoke in his bed.
he shook of the already hazy memory and
sank into the nothingness of good sleep.