Currant Dreams

By Jill Burrow via Pexels

“For a dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.”
Oscar Wilde

In a thousand soliloquies, the sky is an orchard. Blistered cherries. Overripe peaches. Oranges laden with themselves.

Truthfully, the light burns blue. When the night peels, the fluorescent cobalt of morning cracks beneath the rind, mustering shadows from a palate of nothing. Each blocky definition wells inside the mind, sweet and inebriating.

You, too, could be that bright, that limitless. You can sink your teeth into your tangled prospects, be every echo on the precipice of yourself.

The last bite of this fluorophore will inevitably go. Blue stains gather on your mouth like the crumbs of a hungry dream. Only in the morning will you have to choose.

But when the morning comes, you will be ready.