Part One.
Sometimes
we talk about them,
never of interest
to anyone
other than ourselves.
I've met you all,
from those who claim
“I don't”
(Each night,
your breathing ,
even
in
out
in.)
I know the way
between the spaces.
To those who claim
“Crazy cheese dreams!”
(Some Gouda or
Extra Sharp
New Zealand
Grass Fed
Organic,
Rennetless
Baby Goat's Teet
Cheddar,
to pair with
the creative juices
on which we flow...)
And be it sober or
floating.
In a dirty dishpan
of whiskey
and wine
I say,
Your dreams are
Slumbering
out of consideration,
(whispering, “we can be far too polite”)
Part Two.
I've been sleeping.
Easily, and
far too much.
Last night a twelve month old told me,
“I know I am much more articulate
than you would expect,
given my age.”
And I laughed.
Because it made too much sense.
Part Three.
I lost my dreams once.
After buses and trains.
After all movement ended.
Each page of my daily living,
cheated,
and wind swept.
I indulged in fondue, and
diversions.
I let my body be touched
by anyone who would dare,
And still each night,
would sigh, in prayer,
and frustration;
My friends,
My dreams,
Where are you?
Part 4.
Now
I am waiting for the day
When you
Will eat breakfast
With me.
