Dreams Of The Night
Pétur Söebech Quinn

When daylight folds its maps and slips away,
The silent provinces of dream arise;
A moonlit parliament of shadows sway
Beneath the drifting architecture of skies.



There every road is made of memory's thread,
Each fleeting face a messenger unseen;
The living walk beside the nameless dead,
And all existence glimmers in between.


The heart unbuttons every guarded door,
Releasing songs no waking tongue can keep;
Lost loves return and wander as before,
Like silver vessels sailing through the deep.

Thus night imagines what the day denies,
And dreams become the truth behind our eyes.