Lost Dreams
Nov 8 2022
I slept fitfully.
Not the deep sleep of oblivion
but dipping in and out.
The way a smooth stone
flat on both sides
skips across the surface
of a still black lake.
So all I have
are fragments of dreams,
as insubstantial
as the wisps of fog
drifting over the same still water.
Strong emotions
that felt important,
and something
that's been deeply troubling
finally resolved.
But what?
Like a skipping stone
that slows to a stop
and is irretrievably gone.
So, is the sleeping version of me
preternaturally wise?
Does the subconscious have answers
my waking self
can neither access
nor understand?
I lie still
eyes closed
trying to prolong that twilight state
between sleep and wakefulness,
but the harder I reach
the further my dreams recede.
Although perhaps
it's best not to see
into that dark subliminal place
where dreams reside.
Let them do their work
out of sight.
Leave night
to the bottom-dwelling me,
that subsurface creature
who never comes up to breath.
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