Of the Light

I dream that I disappear
I am gone
nothing of me but strange
quiet joy
remains to wave.
The dream turns
into a mallow morning
imagined transparent ponies
made of shiny cobwebs
or a breath of a white cloud
imagined
just because of this gentle morning.
I will not disappear
so that it stays clear
like the eyes of a child.
I wake up in a cradle of tears
as if I never existed
before.