Oct 182014
There's a turning in turning-in
When dreams seem almost possible:
The bed untucks, and we fall in
Without fuss in the evening drizzle--
It's then that the landscape of a pillow,
Its hills and valleys creased and curled,
Give our giant, sleepy eyes a world
Inaccessible tomorrow.

The day gets lost like a blown balloon
Bursting adrift above the Atlantic--
A casement ope's, and, eftsoons,
Extruded dreams are real as plastic:
Me the hero, you adorably bereft,
Adrift on a lifeboat from the Titanic--
Death-aware, but not too tragic.
All in all, it's nearly something perfect.

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