Silver Dreams

Last night I dreamt about the Sandman

He lay vast asleep

His sandy castles bobbed so gently

Salted by the sea

His pouch gaped open on its side

As silver sands did flow

To shower in the boldest moon

With magic in their glow

Foamy fingers reaching out

And grasping for the grains

Shallow graves for mighty keeps

All caving under strain

Little did the Sandman know

About his work undone

Snoring like a storm beneath

His beard of moonlight spun

The edge of day was dripping down

The dark was turning blue

I darted for the trembling pouch

To steal a grain or two

A race against the swelling tide

Caressing giant boots

An eyelid’s unexpected twitch

Meant ending my pursuit

I turned around—embraced the tide

And stretched it on my skin

A sunbeam poked my naked spine

The sharpest golden sting

I swam about in liquid sparks

Exploring shreds of night

Until the titan raised his hand

And pulled me out of sight

Then morning pierced me in the eye

To pry my marvel loose

A tingling in my fingertips

As memories slipped through

Before I ever could have grasped

The day had wiped me clean

Of all nocturnal magic dust

Of all that I had seen

Drowned in blinding light

One last question left to dwell

The Sandman dreaming—

Did he dream me up as well?

You want to learn a little more about the poem? Feel free to read my (Dutch) blog post Mijn eerste vier werken.