Portal

I like to swim in the images of the morning
not escape but rediscover jigsaws of memories,
piece pictures of a world I’ve shaken,
like a landscape in a portal snow globe.

To ebb in comfort between fantasies
of tea taken in porcelain cups on paisley sofas,
before the shift towards evening dusk,
when the conversations with my senses arrive.

But before then I’ll lay here dreaming
between the walls and wool blankets of colour,
Letting my mind absorb spilt thoughts
in curious patterns on a cotton cloth.