Dreams

There is a litany of lost dreams
sung by a choir.
Their hope is gone.
Wizards in a Narnian winter.
In Your mercy we are broken
and falling up.
We pray to Love's might
and remember
that everyone is like me.

We lay down our pride
like the queen of the night
we ask, "Are you real?
Like a Siberian sleigh ride?"
Under oath,
reinvent your exit
for the sake of your brother.

A lonely bell has the power
to open wounds and to toss the wisdom
of the snow
from the skillet into a day of fire.
The song of the river is out of control.

Sooner
or later
we will come back to reason
when the boatmen
ring the evening bells.

Yet let this one stay,
for it has different wings.
They float on the apparitions of
a melody.