In the morning I sit like a child
In the morning I sit like a child
emptying pockets of treasures collected on the way,
little snatches of dream:
A turkey farm and a crotchety neighbor.
A house full of beds all made up in big flowered sheets.
A cave at the end of the beach.
I brush the lint from each,
see how the sun shines through it,
set it out on the table.
Something is missing.
There was a dream, I know there was,
only it left nothing for me to hold it with,
no image, word, or motion.
Still I remember, clear and certain,
in the way everything inside
ripples open.
I dreamed somebody loved me.
