The Landscapes in My Dreams
The landscapes I return to when I dream
And never quite recapture when awake ‒
Are they echoes of places I have been?
What is it that gives them their distinctive shape?
I’ve risen up and drifted over trees;
The landscapes I have visited seem true,
Though mere mirages conjured up to please
A drifting dreamer’s mind for an hour or two.
I sense those landscapes emerging as I drift
From evening reading’s harbour out to the open
Sea where body gives itself to the gift
Of hidden landscapes, whispering from the ocean
Of consciousness. The shapes my boat will find
Astonish ‒ and are only in the mind.