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.