I sleep well

With fire pulled tightly

Over my body,

Under my chin

Thin flames lick the sides

Of a landscape

Rife with alive.


Alive and waking

After dreams

Seemed real—

Innately revealed

The pull and

Push of

My will.


Will the morning sky

Agree to the lie

That misfit memory

Cordoned to

The side of my waist

Or will it let me



Swim in the water

Of imagination stirring

An element much safer

Than that which

Wreaks with smoke

Poked—but then soothed—

By waves crashing over.


Over the horizon

A line where earth meets sky

That earth

Where grounded clay

Accepts my fingers

Grabbing through and sinking.


Sinking hands

But head in the air

Where birds and insects

Catch the wind

Spiral upward

Then rescind—

Up but not away

Like dreams huddling under fire.


Copyright Jill Szoo Wilson

Photo Credit: Claudia Pomowski’s piece, “Cry Of Oblivion.”   You can see more of her work on her website: C. Pom’s Art Wesbite .