Where Dreams Live
They stay with me for a few moments
after waking, the blurred pictures in
my mind I had while dreaming,
conversations so interesting I want
to return to them to see how they end,
or decisions on the brink of being made
that would affect, you know, how we
feel about each other. And I am sure,
for those brief minutes between sleeping
and waking, I am at my most powerful,
a masterful conductor of will as I
attempt to stay present for this wild show,
like I can control the actors in it, and
by doing so, help them make choices
that will be good (I pray, be kind!) but
often I just watch the events unfold
willy-nilly, mesmerized by the place
where dreams live, in some static state,
delineated by both reality and possibility,
and I am realizing, as much as I do enjoy
the show, the entertainment of watching
myself in a scene both familiar and
unknown and not being able to change
a script I’ve never been given, I like waking
up even more, especially when the house
is still and I can tiptoe out to the kitchen,
throw open wide the windows and inhale,
deep in my lungs, the sweet air of morning.