Glowworm At The Threshold Poem by Denis Mair

The dream factory is always busy
Weaving a fabric of memory and fantasy
It takes talent to follow that baseline
All those spontaneous aesthetic decisions
To attend to that music, one has to care
About that flux of shadows in emptiness...
About wispy distinctions in a dissolving cloud...
And who can amplify such things
Unless they have grown disgusted
With the pitfalls of everyday desire?
To tease out implications
Becomes the game of thought
To look beyond the glowworm's charm
And see it signalling at the threshold
Marking a portal of perception