In the dream a forest grew upon an ocean bed.
And waves from where they clung to roots were flung….
upon that sunken wood,
to rise against the bark of trees
to where they stood…
upon that floor…
to leaves of silver loam and silver fin…
unseated from their liquid limbs did swim….
And silk warm breath of seas upon my skin
as if Poseidon beat
the rhythm of my heart from shadows
Awakened upon white the ink did flow…
to strange tormented grove my brushes wove…
and worldly cares and sounds made dumb by wild remembered roar…
and in the studio,
my quiet tender stream no more…
upon that shore.
Extract from Reyn’s journal of dreams