
Sanaa invites the dVerse poet community to delve into their dreams as a rich source for literary expression. I have been attempting this the last little while and offer this nugget in the raw for self-edification more than anything!
I walked the long coast,
salt in my lungs,
hunger in my bones,
seeking a table not yet set.
The café was hollow,
a shell of welcome,
bare but for one alcove
where laughter gathered like tide.
I asked to sit
not knowing if I belonged
and they made room,
as if grace were a game
played by strangers
who knew the rules of kindness.
They spoke in riddles,
a missing word,
a misting truth,
and I, still faint from the walk,
asked if the question itself
was broken.
Is it “missing”
like a name forgotten,
or “misting”
like memory blurred by time?
And they nodded,
not with answers,
but with presence.
So I sat,
Stockman’s pie in hand,
and let the mystery feed me.
(c) Dennis Ryle, November, 2025








