When The World Sleeps

The world unbuttons itself at night.

Mountains fold into feathers, oceans climb the air like vines, and

cities soften into rivers of light that flow nowhere and everywhere at once.

In sleep, the laws dissolve.

Time walks backward, then sideways, then forgets its own name.

Stars lower themselves like lanterns you can touch,

their heat a language your waking mouth could never speak.

Forests whisper in colors.

The moon wears a thousand faces, all of them yours.

Every shadow is a companion, every silence, a song.

Here, In dreamland gravity is only a suggestion.

Here, you rise because the air asks you to, and you drift across horizons stitched together by imagination.

The wonders of the world reveal themselves only when eyes are closed;

the river that runs through your veins, the sky blooming in your chest, the truth that reality is only half the story.

And when you wake, the dream lingers,

like dew on morning grass, like a secret pressing its lips against your ear,

whispering: there is more, there has always been more.