I slept so soundly
I forgot to wake.
There was no reason
to see where my shadow was.
Yet, no answer to anything
in my dreams.
There’s a city in which
I’m always lost.
A home hidden somewhere,
but never anyone who loves me.
My beautiful dreams,
are daydreams.
Make believe with eyes open.
But sleep is a dark avenue
with no address.
A lost continent,
without voices.
Sometimes, a voice
that tells me riddles.
Things I must remember.
That come true.
Once, my parents
in the dream of sleep
looked on,
as I played with universes,
and were amused
when I asked,
what is this?
Their answer, toys
for you to play with.
And sometimes,
outside slumber,
outside time,
love words from someone gone,
or someone I’ve never known,
but know.
So, when I sleep,
even soundly,
I prefer not to know
where I’ve been,
in the riptides of my soul,
and look at the toes
beside my bed,
and like little puppies
wiggle them,
and depressed or not,
grin,
ready to go.