Jazz Version of a Dream

From your eye the world runs out in coloured drops.
It drips along the path of green bushes and makes them bloom.
They lead to the corner of your garden.
You tread on the outspread images without touching them.

What did you forget to weep out? Did you fail to shed someone?
Some important moment? A trivial memory? A face or a word...?
On the path to the corner of your garden there is plenty of room.
Everything will be wept out. All that is yours will unfold before you.