Dreams

They are not very selective, at least
not by any measure you can grasp.
There are mad chickens. Pirate ships.
Temples from the wilds of India.
Your lover is there. God and the devil
and plenty of strangers.

They are too real for comfort,
and when you wake, it takes a few moments,
at times, a few minutes to discern dream from reality
and you are never sure
which you would rather be true.

About this poem.

I dream a lot. And they are frightfully vivid. It’s not good for getting sleep, but it’s never boring.

The photograph is from the palette of Matt Solon, a local artist and friend.

Tom