“Category 9: Poetry.  “Dreamscape”, page 1

Dreamscape



I have this dream, yet not so much a dream

as a memory. But I can’t remember.

I have this dream, though it’s not really a dream

for there is no duration like a puff of smoke.



I have this dream. A memory – a recollection

of a time and place I can’t remember.

I have this thought, this memory of a night

black as India ink, hot, humid, sultry.



It’s darker than midnight in my dream.

The smell of saltwater and bunker oil

are heavy in the air.





And in my dream I can taste

a wisp of cigarette smoke

as it blows across my face,

and harbor sounds kiss my ears.



Am I on a ship or on a float

in this dream of mine?

I feel the heat of steel and

the roll of a wave beneath me.



But the night is dark and still.

Lights like dolphins

are in the distance,

but are they in my dream?



I have this dream.

Not so much a dream

as a memory floating back

to me.



A recollection of sorts

that’s most pronounced

on dark moon-lit nights,

warm and damp.



In my dream, as I recall

I feel the hulk of the ship.

Is it beside me, or under my feet?

Where am I, why am I here?



Softly, gently, flows the music.

Flowing with the tinkling sound of laughter,

And the toots and whistles of little boats

that I cannot see in the dark.



I have this dream.

And sometimes I am afraid

because it is so real.

yet nothing is there.