This

He falls back
a trust fall into the arms of the unknown
his body sinks into itself
into the watery breath of mother
of ocean
of time
and he falls for an eternity
that lasts no longer than the shutter of his eyes

awakened
he sees a face
arising from a pastel pink and blue
and golden mist
a dark face
a chestnut
with eyes
peering deep
asking questions as old as time

he implodes

petals of plum tress and women in pink leather jackets
and handkerchief jeans
with life lines embroidered across them
intricate swirls 
shape shifting
into dimensions that are not known to his human self
no way to translate
the script of spirit and love and eternity

all settles onto the surface of a quietly flowing river
pink plum petals letting go into a gentle rippling song
caressed by lanterns of orange light
and the soft voices of people strolling along the banks
the laughter
that pulls him out of the dream
and into her eyes

“What truth
did you mean to tell me?”

he brushes his hand across her wrist
like chiffon
a butterfly
a petal

“This” he says. “This”.