My dreams are evanescent, and I wake
To watch them dissipate and disappear,
Wishing that in my memory I might make
A place to save them, permanent and clear.
I have the vaguest notion that I’ve seen
In dreamscapes wondrous possibilities,
That alternate realities have been
Revealed which daylight consciousness can’t seize.
Or are they merely fantasies, absurd
Concoctions of deranged mentality,
The Siren singing of some mythic bird,
Not intimations of what’s yet to be?
Still all that we have made began in dreams:
Imagination feeds on what first seems.