is how relaxed they seem,
the creatures
in your dream –
no internecine scheme all
fraught with mystery:they hang about
as if they were the history
of an amorphous
nothing much. The unconsidered
loving touch –
the musing
in the absent eyes –their quietly peculiar
shapes are no surprise.
You wonder what you have
to do with them.You ask:
the dream grows dim.
.
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