One afternoon in a dark room with an open window

The afternoon sun shone brightly
On my two feet, just peeking out of
My blanket of dreams.

Warmed thus, they tried to find some
Solid ground, just below my bed
And found a carpet.

Soft it was, downy flaked maroon
Threads – woven to perfection
Each string. Then the eyes opened.

I saw my warm feet, saw the stale
Bread on the table. Yeast, jam
And a few Creole words of fantasy.

Then the sun moved across my
Window, searching for my hands.
Found them, drenched them.

Then it moved finding my lips -
Wet. Trying to dry them, the sun
Failed, fell and left.