Though they
may perch upon
each other for
a moment
or brush by
each other’s eyes
through
silence in the silky air,
when
creatures from your
dreams
convene, they rarely
know who’s
there. They glance
or take a whiff
and then
descend into
another almost
solo reverie.
The devilry
of dreams is
that they’re always
almost solo. They
may permit
a touch, a
breath, a gaze from
something
other than
themselves
but mainly if you’re
China, they’re
not Marco Polo.
.
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