reverie v. reality

torches

sheep on the hillside,
white as burning
torches in the black-
cloaked night.

a pattern, both chaotic
and slow to emerge.
first, scattered; then,
returning -

fingers to the palm -
stretching out
to create a meaning.
or curling

in like so many refracted
whorls of white,
and the pupils are
a black box,

lit with the reflection of
pale white stars -
like torches - shifting a slow,
inconstant message

over the hill.

#poetry