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.
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