Fly

 

I had dreams where it happened. From what I recall,

The landscape was indistinct: aspects of castles

Visited hazily in childhood, ramparts over

Opaque forests, a river drowsing through a valley;

A marketplace nearby, and all the life and clutter

Of a thousand forgotten things and passers-by;

Sky, dream-coloured. From what I can recall

You were there, and you told me how simple it was.

I denied it – even in dreams, I somehow denied

I could do it. But you were there, a little way off

By the archway to the city. You gestured at nothing

And said, in no voice that I can quite now remember,

“Whatever is done is done. So do it now.”

And still I can feel it: that shifting reluctance

Which changed into movement, of racing downhill

On a hilltop which, moments before, could not be:

And the heavens were tangible, like a sleeping mist,

And the rush of my running was lifting me up,

I could do it by lifting my heels off the ground

And for that second before I so tragically opened

My eyes, I’d done it: for one dream of a second.

 

Now waking, I said: “What is done is done,

And you do it, by lifting yourself off the ground.”

 

This could either be about chasing your ambitions and realising your dreams in life or, in a way more literally, about having a dream in which you are flying. I will leave it up to you to decide: whatever suits you. 

Incidentally, if you’ve never had a dream where you’re flying, frankly, you are missing out. It’s very simple. Just run, run so fast that your dreams can barely keep up with the landscape: and at just the right time, lift your feet off the ground. 

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