Blue Jean Dreams

photo: Pixbay via Creative Commons license CC0In a stolen moment of calm,
wisps of half-remembered dreams
wind around me;
I see their faded patterns,
every crease a story.
I can almost decipher them.

They shush, they soothe.
For once, the jangling
is silenced.
Comfortable dreams
like worn blue jeans,
like old cocoons;
they wrap me easily,
humming softly.

I can breathe.
I take comfort.
Cradled. Hushed.

I’ve good reason for woolgathering.

As long as they hold me,
I no longer
long
for an end.

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