the art of dreaming

all day has looked like evening
like it's perpetually getting ready
for dark

black blocks
will soon be placed
(by men on ladders)
over lingering bits of light
until the sky is
totally inky

then we ride up on the moon
and as we dream, we
take our place among
constellations

other living rooms play
our own in dreams
other people play
the ones we know

the images here are familiar
(in an unfamiliar sort of way)
draperies open to reveal
our selves

we slide down stairs
on pillows
curtains close and
only our feet stick out

we can conjure ghosts
from the stained-glass ceiling

the paintings on the wall
change shape and color
when we ask them

we walk into a house that
from the outside has only 3 levels
and climb 12 stories of stairs once inside

after leaving the castle
where we had a yard sale
with other witches
we fly to the Lowe's

and hide in the dark corners
in the aisle with the brooms
waiting for the morning

at daybreak we emerge
disoriented
wondering why we can't fly anymore

I have to say, I had SO much fun writing this. It came from bits and pieces of dreams I've had over the years. I realize how much those affected me, in some strange inadvertent way...I mean, I've remembered them all this time! I'm gonna write more of these. I had always read dream imagery makes for good poetry, so I'm gonna try it!