Last night you appeared again in my dreams
Your hands are wrinkled with time and blood
Your eyes black depths of forever, dusted with pain
You smell of old skins and black seal oil dust
How can I smell in dreams?
You hold a stained wooden bowl in your hands
the rim is chipped with use and endless travel
The seal oil lamp made it's surface dance and writhe
The taste of molten copper colors my vision
How can I remember every detail?
Again you speak liquid words
Again I do not understand the confusion
Again I watch your dry cracked lips move in silent vows
Again you dip your fingers in the bowl
How can all this happen again and again?
Your fingers come up covered in blood
Not human blood, not animal blood
It clings to your parched skin in an odd way
You reach across the bowl and brush your fingers across my lips
How come I always feel so sad after this dream?
I am always afraid to lick my lips
Not because of what it might actually be
But for the unknowns it places on my soul
but I always end up swallowing the sickly sweet and violent liquid
How come I can always remember what it tastes like?
You smile you smile you smile you smile
And then you are just an old woman again
An old woman I do not know
An old woman with with an old bowl in an old sod house
Why do I always wake up crying?
"Brown Bear Sleeps" New drawing. Prints and Original up for sale in my 2d store.