Dream feelings … rich,
like a hand which holds a stone
after a walk through
a musty old bookstore
(a smile with the owner
and, at the fingertips,
electric paper thrills), then
on the way out
placing it back on top of a brick
and, when caught,
sheepish, the laugh lines
of its owner stick out as
you walk out the door
into the haze
pulling you back to wakefulness.

Before the moment is lost that sense, that
dream feeling
of another reality,
the eyes look back to catch a glimpse
of the bookstore that now
changes into a scene during a parade
and floats rise high atop buildings
and she is there…
she never has a name, nor is she known
but again she´s there and I say her neck is a draw
and she laughs, asking, “Really?”
while on the couch
(which suddenly enters, they always do)
we crumble together, she
with her dark hair and sharp dream-face
I with my intentions clear
and no one notices us
as the next float passes by
and I try to hold on
as long as I can because
anything is possible
even floating away.


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