Staying Dead

Don't you wish there was a button you could push to print out your dreams those reams and reams of dreams with their ready solutions unavailable in waking life as the precious dead we love walk through in darkness. The daylight can't afford them. They return with their graceful presence in the levels, the corridors of invention. It was never their intention to stay dead. They are not lost. There is no door they cannot open-- no threshold they cannot cross. And, at morning with your backpack of dreams you lie across the bed and face into sunlight as it streams through a window-- its soft colors drifting under closed eyelids.