dReAm

I dream again. I am not a conscious dreamer. I cannot tell you I’m dreaming until I’ve woken up. Every dream I have may as well have happened. So loose is my tether to the understanding of the world. I close my eyes into my night and wake up in a friend’s car on rusted train tracks. The air smells green and tastes like rebellion. The tracks rumble and I see how it could end but I know, somehow I know, I don’t die here.

I close my eyes and wake up 20 feet up a rock climbing wall. My father is looking down at me and I’m trying to tell him about music. We both love music. It bridges the tumult in us both, we can speak the same language when a melody is playing. I’m eager to hear the storm of him. So I climb.

I look down and a friend is getting fit. She’s having a hard time but there’s no other way she’ll have it. She’s tired of who she is. She’s tired of who she’s been. If she doesn’t stop how could I? I climb the wall. I begin to speak about a song. It plays before I can name it and I fall.

I’m running upstairs. A friend hands me two dog treats to make soup for my dogs. I love my dogs and I haven’t given them enough love. I’m racing after him though because we’re late. Aren’t we always? The train leaves in 2 minutes and we’re 5 minutes away. We’re cunning though, we leap and dash and hop. Our Minds as sharp as our bodies. He’s telling me about a project between breaths. Breaths he doesn’t have to take. I see a car on the tracks. The train rumbles. I smell green.

I open my eyes in the dark. I remember my father’s smile. So vivid, so attentive. I could only have been dreaming.