The waves that wax and wane against my feet
and gusts of wind that break upon my beach
recoil as I breathe them deeply in,
then blow them backward, ne'er again to breach.
How strange that I should wield this much control
o'er wind and water, powerful and swift--
For who am I, ungodly human flesh,
To push and pull where others only drift?
I must be dreaming, must be soon awaking.
The realization always seems to rouse.
So fast I cling to sleep, to savor this,
this lucid dream, as long as I can drowse.
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