Here's #5, again, this is as rough as they come, and it's not finished. It's little more than an embryo right now.

The Dream Maker

She opens half-lidded eyes
and stretches towards the dominion
of dreams. Her fingers dip, gingerly,
into cachets of colorful memories
stored in cedar boxes.

The breeze sighs, restless
in her primeval copse as she sifts
and sorts then decides the segments
of the evening’s reel.

No matter our mercury-bright desires;
she decides what we’ll see, or not.
The barometer of her mood ordains
horror or love, fight or flight,
though we may decide
to forget her show when we wake
to sound or sight.

She is a persisting fire who flames
and shapes molten orbs of fantasy


copyright 2005 by Cookala