Dreams are Simple in the Morning


Having followed a night’s digestion

Of a blue secret or two, a new mountain or two.

Darkness, finished rustling the sheets,

Lifts its trembles from the blankets

In retreat from a warm dawn.

Now, the half-wake mind slips lightly

Down red-pebbled streets, exact replicas of unseen places

Gather inside the sleepscope;

Perfect stereoptics through the pillows.


The Rhine intersects the Volga becomes the Nile

In easy steps. Amsterdam into Afghanistan,

A touch from Moscow to Madrid, the print of

Feet across the oceans, beat of wings above the sand,

A cotillion in the Black Forest,

Motorcades lengthening the Autobahn into mist,

All neat in a bedded sanctum.


A sudden light adjusts us conscious,

Curdles us unwilling and awake,

Draws out the last armaments of fantasy

To fight the satin battle back to everywhere;

The gypsies left dancing on Oahu,

A taut sail toward Calais.