Red Leaves of the Grape Vine

Dread alights the filaments of sleep
Current dreams spinning towards infinity–
Lay your head upon the pillow
And prepare to fall into the deep...

Could we rise above the water’s peak
Stood upon that tower of brick and stone
When we know each brick is borrowed clay
And that no stone could tell us what we seek?

A race against the wilting climb
Tangled to itself by spindly arms–
Our lives resemble (though we still deny)
The red leaves of the grape vine.