Walking a city afternoon I made this photo through the window of an antique store.
I continued to gaze, fascinated by my reflection superimposed on the bed. It was as if I was laying down and drifting with the ghosts of all who had ever slept, dreamed, loved, laughed and cried, been born and died there, tangled in baroque light.
I was moved to free us from all this sleeping around.
Above, but out of the frame, was a sign in antiquarian lettering.
It said ‘Dreams For Sale’.
ghosts cannot rest
in this dislocated bed
perplexed by labyrinths of iron
and the endless touch of the living
their spines and cheeks
never crease the haunted sheets and pillows
outside looking in I’m inside looking out
whispering to the reflected dead
you are loved and you are loved
and you are free
Photo and Poem by clinock.