GONE AT DAWN
My dreams fly off in tatters once I wake—
What had been so engaging moments past
As soon as my eyes flutter will forsake
My memory: that vividness won’t last.
Though others can recall in great detail
Adventures they’ve pursued throughout the night,
My hopeful efforts are of no avail
And what was splendid fades in morning’s light.
The best that I can do is sit right here
In readiness to write and hope somehow
That what I dreamed about may reappear
To manifest in poetry right now.
That isn’t quite what happened, as it seems,
And so I write on not remembering dreams.