Hibernating Animals Poem by Zander Page

Buried in the ancient now,
There is a constellation of thoughts,
That has the amorphous authority of a working hypothesis.

Teetering on a frayed whisper,
The coordinates carry the urgency of the stars,
Forever present, forever in danger of fading away.

And like the spring wind can spread the flames of one's beliefs,
The thoughts perpetually threaten to be exposed in decay,
Beneath the melted snow,
Beside the wiggling worms who eat the rot,
Beside the carcasses of the hibernating animals,
Who did not fulfill their Earthly promises.

But presently, as pen touches paper,
The spirit threading together these particular thoughts,
Is the same that threads through the seams of your favourite dreams,
More valuable than any earthly substance.

Less a thought,
More a land seen through thought.
A dream manifesto, a compass,
A trajectory that only you can name.
A place that only you can choose.

Where colours are inverted to ours.
Purple, orange, and pink, are to them,
What blue, green, and brown are to us,
And all possible melodies exist in perfect jigsaw harmony.

It is where our shadows look with regret,
It is where we send our messengers,
It is what the rising sun has come to realize,
It is how tears turn to gentle rain,
And how collected scars celebrate empathy,
How deterioration maps out understanding,
And how pain prescribes purpose,
Godless yet sacred, self-evident, free, it is
Land characterized by euphoric infinity.