somnambulant toward remembered things,
things I’ve not yet seen;
dreaming now in the memory of color
behind the veil of tired eyes.
Look up to mountain peaks
beyond this pilgrim’s path;
where is my help to come from?
The sleepless one who dreamt
all reality into star-dusted glory,
dreamt of heaven and this gritty earth
so we could travel treacherous roads
to that hidden place just beyond;
the sleepless one is guardian
and defender against striking noon day sun,
against the chill of lonely moonlight.