And it was

It was, if but for a sleeping moment  
a vision of a dream  
and it was, it would seem; enough to awaken me again  
to open my eyes  
and breathe with conviction  
I am me, I am alive  
 
It was something, and it was nothing at all  
not anything that could be worded  
or painted onto a canvas  
like all the other somethings and nothings  
that have come and gone  
or grown strong enough to live on indefinitely  
 
it was beauty, like northern skies being taken    
by the pinks and cyan of Aurora borealis 
each brief wave, electrifying, progressing to its peak    
then dying out to make way for the next one  
and so on  
 
and it was something, really quite something