We wake, but are still sleeping.
She's crouched and I’m cradling -
her. In the blur -
between dreams and complete awakening.

We move as though absorbed,
as children yet unborn,
innocent and stupid,
dependant and nurturing -

a shyness of the day ahead.
When we must dress and become
adults tightly sprung,
lifting the latch of dreams by Jung.

We wake, but are still sleeping.
Between dreams and complete awakening,
the world turning,
without us.