I wonder in what lucid dream I will find that moving shadow, merging with the cracks of everything forgotten in-between. The dreams that sink too deeply leave me unsettled when
I wake but they are the closest I come to truth.
When I first felt it, I stood in the half floated school of my childhood. The images of it abandoned have warped in my subconscious, paying pilgrimage to a lost child.
The classrooms are flooding and I can’t remember the face of who was ahead of me. Who has become so far ahead of me that the etching of their back has dissipated from my memory.
Lopsided tables are sinking into the ground and crooked, flickering light fixtures, too dim to be anything other than empty space, swing overhead. Ink frogs with stomachs rounded by the fat of fortune, hop between the tables and my legs.
I delve into the muck of the swampy classrooms, frogs silent except for the red of their eyes sitting still in the whisper of the moonless night. As I open doors, the water up to my ankles, the frogs are no longer on the ground. Instead, the horned beasts, sea urchins, ring the gong of judgment. Horns grow on top of their heads, longer and longer like antennas pointed to the sky.
The scales tip and I am slipping through dreams. I never see the sky when I dream, only the ground coming closer to me as I fall.
For small moments, set adrift in worlds gray and miserable, that I commiserate with the wisp of smoke. Weariness sets in where I cannot see, where the bleeding gray melts on the surface of my skin. Long consumed are the stars, their hunger burnt quick by the matchstick. The skies are blotted with ash from their death and the moon is sinking black on the horizon.
I fall further and further; the echo of judgement like a sound moistened on my lips. The worlds stretch into forever, dreams plucked from fever-pitches, and led by the ghostly wail of the entertainer.
I walk from the bridge, shifting and changing into the next person for the next dream. And I am lost again; that brief clarity of my consciousness floating in-between is wiped away.
All dreams lead to the same shape of a face I can no longer see. I pay the toll.
It is the master I seek; the midnight worker, the midnight watcher, the midnight walker.