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Pierian Dreamwork 

I move through a dream that doesn’t hold its shape.

Light folds over itself, then breaks open,

showing fragments I didn’t realise I’d stored.

The ground shifts when I think too hard.

Ideas rise like heat, bending the air,

making familiar objects behave as if they’ve slipped their leash.

I push forward and the scene answers.

A corridor lengthens, a door thins to a line,

and a memory I’d forgotten steps out as if it’s been waiting.

Imagination works here without hesitation.

It builds a coastline out of nothing,

lets the tide carry questions I haven’t asked yet.

I take what I can hold.

A glimmer, a texture, a half‑formed thought

that feels ready to survive the trip back.

When I wake, the room stays still,

but something in me keeps moving,

as if the dream left a door open.

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