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| Mansions of sunset, a dreamscape |
Once I knew the difference
between waking and dreaming,
a reader of planets and verse,
I thought I knew what was real,
this poem for instance, but maybe
it doesn't exist except in my dream,
all of us dreaming our dreams.
And what of awakening,
of awakening into a dream?
I know such transit,
regaining consciousness into a nightmare,
a dream that my daughter
had died in my arms,
which continues.
Too easy now, the blur of the mind
that seeks the invisible world
behind pillars of cloud in the glow of the west,
each of us dreaming our dreams.
What heroes and heroines we are
to get up every morning,
to go to bed every night.
