In sleep, the mind is a garden:

dreams unfurl like sudden blossoms,

impossible colors opening

without question of root or season.

There, I bloom

a thousand selves,

unbound by gravity or name.

Petals of possibility

scatter into infinite skies.

But morning is a drought.

The wither comes quietly,

sunlight stripping away

what could not survive

the weight of waking.

Yet even in reality’s soil,

seeds remain

fragments of dream

pressed into the dark,

waiting for another night

to bloom again.

Edited by Allie Dean

Artist Statement: The poem Dreamflower talks about the cycle of blooming and withering through the contrast between dreams and waking life. Sleep allows limitless growth and possibilities bloom freely without constraint, while morning represents the inevitable wither imposed by reality. Rather than framing withering as an end, the poem phrases it as a needed pause.