There were these lost dreams on dreamers road. Stoned into the bank of the cove. At high noon the dreamers would come to gaze, to suspend their minds in imagination.

They’ve pulled out their ladders to reach God.
They’ve counted the distance between them.

Nailing their dreams in coffins.
Reviving them like Jesus – his resurrection.

Old dreams.
Bruised.
Syrupy Sweet.

Dreams on napkins, nappies and paper bags.
Misunderstood, what makes them fly what makes them sag?

The angel will come and we will wrestle
down over daybreak.

And we’ll place our dreams on our hips.
The angel to hollow through…

These dreams change our names.
And with every one, we, limp steady down the ladder
and stay away from dreamers road.~your Kindness sister Krissy Mosley