Relieved that dream dramas are not real,
I wake, relearn how to feel.
The mirror plays melt in my mind,
I leave the baffling ballroom behind.
Or was it something else, some kind of a show?
Mercifully it matters not that I know.
Glad to sit in the kitchen,
the furniture stable and clean.
The plot less wheel of a dream,
I am able to dismiss,
without a search for what it could mean.
I prefer a good tale to an abstract cocktail
of images fished from a dream.
Though a rainbow may glow I know I must go
to float upon sleep’s surreal stream.