An accidental tourist

Here is a poem of mine from about a year ago.

When the wind blows from I know not where
And stained visions crowd my troubled sleep
I wake late, mistaken and stripped bare
Only to stumble on the rock where I am told to leap

Leap into words infinite and sentences dread
Into the equations of the unreal and forbidden
Into these whispers that press past me like strangers
In a city, where even the streets are made of ether

And where I land and if and why
Are not mine to know

I land in some foreign place
Unimagined and unplanned
An accidental tourist chained in chance again.

Jeff Rich