The Vicarious Tightrope
A new landscape presents itself upon waking.
Places that were dreams drift outward.
Past becomes present; stars earth; flight, a grounded stride.
I might assess these thoughts as if I have a choice -
as if I might climb back into slumber; reestablish a cloud,
reshape a fog already escaping.
Thoughts of coffee with cream creep in,
old latticework mends itself even as I try to stop it.
"Reality, it's not for me, and it makes me laugh." Ha.
FORGET IT. May as well shower and get on with it.
Yet along the drive, my mind keeps wandering...
Will I ever catch that dream again?
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