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.