There they float, hovering in the crystal blue sky,

Creating an almost angelic presence, an aura of peace.

Simply water and mist, the knowledgeable explain why,

Yet the unexplained is shown through our eyes, as troubled waters cease.

Shapes form out of cognitive memories,

And windows to the soul start to drift shut.

Time seems to pass not in minutes, but as centuries,

And the once all-knowing, no longer make the cut.

Suddenly, the blinds are pulled back!

Camera lenses refocus.

Soon, butterflies crafted from refracted rays attack.

Filling visions with citrus leaves, and creating a shield of locusts.

The cotton balls of fantasy return in different forms,

Reaching out translucent hands to the dreamers.

What lurks ahead are no longer storms,

And distress doesn't linger.

The hand is taken, and palms meet,

Molding an infinite bond between reality and the world above.

Submerged in golden reservoir made of black ice and heat,

Strings of reminiscence are woven into a lavender dove.

The young bird soars through white shadows,

Leading the fantasizer to a brink.

The edge of actuality and non-reality, forever shallow,

Though the being with stars for sight needn't think.

The creature of light returns, now a sparrow,

Guiding mind to its rightful space.

The songbird flutters forth into haze-woven silk,

Voicing not a goodbye, but an "until then".

The dreamer wakes up, amber beams glinting in their irises.

Youthful eyes peer up in wonder, as shades become pastels.

A butterfly flaps its delicate wings nearby, and gentle breeze rustles soft strands.

They are home.