In this waking life my thoughts
are agate points and deep lagoons
that make ancient cities and heroes
and bust dakinis out of lunch
boxes.
Everything is alive when I am
awake.
I remember to swim in air
and fly in water, and ride
moon-tigers
to the Moon Cafe, and the light in
my head
is the light of the blue-white
star.
I went back to sleep in a world
of fewer voices and more noise. Out
here
in mossy woods, sleep life is
pleasant.
It's good to watch a cedar shake
her frills,
good to be surprised by lime on
watermelon.
There are days I don't want to wake
up.
Then there are days of pain and
lost delight,
city days caught in time and
trivial stories
when I forget that I am asleep
and can change the game if I awaken.
I cannot say whether the person
writing this
is asleep in the world, or awake in the dreamArt: "Autoscopy" by Robert Moss
This poem is published in Here, Everything Is Dreaming: Poems and Stories by Robert Moss. Published by Excelsior Editions/State University of New York Press.
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