I lie abed and look up,
Into viscous moonlit air,
I see sinuous shapes
The space teems with them
They whirl and twist
Approach and retreat.
No recognizable form, except
One group of pearl droplets.
Dancing on outstretched hand.
My skin feels nothing.
Gently they roll off.
Can these be spirits?
It’s a vision I must keep
As I drift into sleep.

All day I wait for night.
I take to my bed.
I search for my nocturnal vision
I see nothing,
Only dark imprecise forms,
Objects that I recognize by day.
I arise, take out my Magic Eye Book,
Stare at colorful meaningless images.
Put my nose upon the page,
And draw back until they pop.
Three dimensional forms
Clear, luminous, clean.
The air, in their case,
As limpid as my spirit’s place.

Again I lie abed and watch.
I wish the scene to open,
Reveal its secrecies to me
Oh spirits come again
Pop like a Magic Eye picture,
Unveil hidden mysteries
Oh where are you?
Was your visit a one-time revelation?
Nothing, no presence revealed
My eye’s image is fuzzy.
A dark pointillist painting
No clear shape or form
Bewildered, I watch until
I drift  off to sleep.

© Copyright, July 2015, Jane Stansfeld