Water Ballet

Swimming in the dream, occasional waves of lucidity.
Yet, still, it is the dream; dark matter of mind
sillily spins.
There again iconic structures melt into mist.
Another round on the kaleidoscope as calliope themes drift.
I swim, eerily quiet, through gem-encrusted caverns.
Hieroglyphs, familiar yet unreadable,
etched onto walls and crustacea.
Limpid oyster eyes, yes a crust of sleep dust
someday to fester into a luminescent pearl —
buried treasure beyond compare, 
out beyond the market universe.
Swimming, a water ballet, intimately aware of
each measured movement.
It doesn’t matter how the background keeps shifting.

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