Two or Three Dreams: A Year Later

About ten hours’ sleep.
Last night I dreamed I was god.
Playing. Among the older beings.

The years go by at their own rate
The days at theirs -- Me, also,
I go my way through time.
I rest in my body this morning.
I’ll go cook the rice and fish for my friend
For today or tomorrow now.

The earlier dream was not so calming.
About furniture. Chairs, lazyboys.
Her taking them apart. We had three.
She wanted two. Disposing of the one I wanted to keep.
Distressing.
Just a distressing dream
About her and me living together.
Not a memory.
Just tension.

This morning
Let one thing happen independently of others,
Let the rice cook.
Cook the fish.
Get the paper.
Not in sequence, but on their own.
The rice cooks.
I ready the fish.
The time for the papers is its own time.
Not this then that.
This happens.
On its own time.
Each makes its own time.

Peter, I like these types of poems, that seem to flow from some inner reflection of your feelings as opposed to the laundromat type which seem to me to be a mere cataloging of a day's events.

Neither is better probably, it's just a matter of my preference as a reader.

Forward...


Les

merci.

Peter