Your fingers twitch in your sleep

for a moment before you open

your eyes and roll onto your back

You brush a small critter from your face

and pull a twig from your hair

A pink grey sky envelopes the landscape

as you make your way along an outcrop

of shale thru a field

of wet greens and browns

Near the sea you’re at home

among ribbons of kelp

White moss marks the field’s

undulations to the shore

and you awaken again

to a place beyond hindrance

or help

Just to touch and be touched

free of the folds and

consolations of power

you’ll move again thru vast spaces

without disturbing anything

Rick London lives in Oakland, Calif. He composes lyrics for country songs when not writing poetry.