...the notion of dreams made visible
sort of, as we used to say, blows my mind.
it's the stuff of, well, dreams.
my dreams are tangible:
their geography, their topography...
i can map their landscape
as easily as my neighborhood.
the houses in which i dwell there
and return to over and over.
the places i go to watch the ocean,
a grassy hill i roll down,
the closed off part of the house
that i've never explored...
their colors are mine.
if i want to share them
i'll paint them.
Yet contemplate: Do artists dream more beautifully?
Do those inarticulate in real life
wax poetic in their dreams?
could you begin to understand aspects
in those you love
if you could read the pictures
in their minds?
then again i like to imagine the dreams from which
a photograph might have come...
or i might have a nightmare
about the umbrella in the hall - the size of that thing...