dream

some mornings you forget to wake up
and spend the day
mistaking cobwebs for aeroplanes
or space shuttles - or other weightless things
like itches

translucent plants
float on breezes (I can’t remember their names)
creaky rocking chairs
rise in bird-like choruses
you never quite noticed
before this day

flight is all around you -
orbits intersecting, tropical lines
lifting themselves from dusty globes –
setting a stance to lasso whole continents

you remember you named yourself
in utero,

and inside - the tiny gap
of infinity
between your skull and your pen.  Across the river,
alongside the high school lovers
and hopscotch kids,
random vertebrae sit in school uniforms
future poets in their melancholy patterns
   
- the mist from park fountains
marks them eternally present.

You remember a letter you wrote yourself whilst waking,

Your dreaming. Don’t wake up – create.

In the cool light of morning
chestnuts of memories
that scattered your field
can be picked up,
roasted, tasted

       – or left alone for another whimsy,
left a warm shell – for another dreaming soul in flight.