The Secret Language of Dreams
arrived yesterday
in a plain brown mailer
this morning, still dark,
I open it and read the epigraph
because I believe in beginning
at the beginning. But since I
also believe in soft lighting
the words are hard to see.
Consequently
the epigraph, which begins “Dreams
are a conversation with oneself”
emerges in my mind’s eye
a garbled translation into
“Dreams
are a conversation with angels”
Oh, imagine. Imagine yourself.
Imagine me. Imagine us becoming
angels to ourselves.
Puff Of Smoke Poems 