when
they float out of your body
in
the bright of day
when you’re least suspecting
betrayal?
Or in the middle of the night when you
wake up feeling lost—
somewhat
adrift in
the false sanctuary
of a warm duvet.
Where did they go?
There
are no tearful goodbyes
when
dreams
sneak
out the back door, no
whispered
regrets or half-said gripes
only the
bewilderment of lost socks,
missed
buses and tired
lunches.
Where
do dreams go?
It’s
hard when you don’t know where they’ve gone or even if they've gone. What if
they return when you’re not home? They might slide back under the door or slip
through the open window… creep out from under the pile of papers you’ve been
meaning to file or the pile of crumbs at the bottom of the toaster. What if
they just got lost? So you keep to your rituals, turn the porch light on and
water the plants hoping,
hoping
it was a mistake, they are just teasing or repaying you back for some
slight
you made when you didn’t know better. But
dreams
are not like that. When they leave
they
are gone. They don’t care
about the gaping
wounds
of a pierced
heart, the emptiness
of longing and the
pitying stares of those
who
have (they say)
worked harder, shone brighter, taken
a different path, they don’t look back
to comfort confused souls
a different path, they don’t look back
to comfort confused souls
quivering in
disbelief
they
just go
to
wherever they go
and
are gone
leaving
you to rise again
with
the dust left
behind
under
the pillow.