Awakening
By Mike Wilson
I turn inside out, to the dream, just before it gets
physical.
Listen to the music of bees. That scent of
rose in my nose grows haloes.
I surrender to circles
of light, in the center a shimmering guide, in shadow
whoosh of angels riding bicycles.
Oh writers, poets, artists, musicians—release time’s
grip at the tangent point.
A minor annihilation has
taken place. Surfaces no longer contain or hide the
multitude of worlds.
Eyes aren’t tethered to the body.
Everything’s expanding like a gas.
Mike Wilson’s work has appeared in magazines including Mud Season Review, The Petigru Review, Still: The Journal, The Coachella Review, and in his book, Arranging Deck Chairs on the Titanic. His awards include the League of Minnesota Poets Award, Maine Poets Society Award, and Chaffin/Kash Prize of the Kentucky State Poetry Society. He lives in Lexington, Kentucky.
