A Dream Escaped Again

A dream escaped again.
Whatever it had just devolved into the mixing and the draining of –
whirling bits of algebra, illicit lust and grandma’s withheld love –
it seemed, according to its ever-unknown scheme,

to have achieved whatever it decided it should do –
quick-slipped and slicked right out of you
back to
wherever dreams go on.

One wonders if they also undergo the dusk, deep night and dawn
they make us voyage through.
Perhaps they are a cosmic psychical contagion
passing through: infecting us

with blurry hope and rue.
Perhaps they are a kind of glue.
Perhaps without them we’d evaporate from view.
Rather like they do.


 
 
 
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