SANDRA SARALA

★ ★ ★ ★

POETRY

I am not a dream

I am flesh,
anchored to the ground
I am capable of flying

in a moment
in the darkness
in the light, I am

not high on a pedestal
not shrouded in romantic haze
not intangible, I am not a dream

but should I enter your mind as one, I
would have more power,
for dreams create true substance

realised, I am brilliant,
constant, I am declared
open in your heart

press your ear to hear my pulse
lay your soul upon my palm
I am a cradle

rocking gentle, I am beside
inside you always
watching breathe with the sky above

Nocturnal Emission

the slight sound disturbance
a batting pop
in the bedroom
is what in retrospect,
I ignored
but when you, dazzling Fledermaus,
appear
in my 150 watt lit work room
the recall light goes on,
you have come in
as a phantom
through one of the top small windows

a sonic miracle

like the 36 minute
slowed down version of Kate Bush singing Wuthering Heights
your body pirouettes in agile rounds
of sight-limited spaces

like Cathy tapping you must
be by habitat in a different room
with dimmer lamps

so go

back outside my window
to your universe
singing echo songs from the courtyard
at frequencies
with your mate of like kind,
who is waiting for you there
unheard by my human ears