Otherwhere

There's an orchard where
the stars hang brightly
from mossy trees.

Here,
dewy grass reflects light
from twinkling fruit
like tiny diamonds.

There's a meadow where
sleep is the only thing
that feels real.

Here,
somnial delights
caught in a mirror
reflect but themselves.

There's a glade where
night falls as it would
in a restful graveyard.

Here,
headboards resemble tombstones,
beds are like graves,
and sleep is death.