Dreaming from the backseat of a thunderstorm,
somewhere 'tween slumber and life,
I wake to the violent blaze of a crying sun
sinking below a field of silhouetted matchstick trees.
Wrapped in the orange glow of the fire lit sky,
drifting into the purple haze of the rising night and numbing rain,
I touch some sliver of forgotten paradise
'tween the fire and the rain
that fell from some waking dream.
We catch the rainstorm by the tail
and fracture the sun into a million silver droplets.
The fire burns away the matchsticks
until there is nothing left to consume
and the starless night smothers the last embers
of some rainy day sunset
till it is nothing more than a memory of a dream.
And I fall once more into the violet cover of the rain's lullaby
as we drive into the oblivion 'tween far away and home.