At dawn I return with fragments of an enchanted world,
like snatches of a half-forgotten song.
And set about becoming me-of-this-reality again.
So I brush the dreams out of my hair
And wash the lingering images from my eyes
And get ready for another day in exile
from the kingdom of infinite possibility.
At dusk, I return home with shards of my workday
Like jagged knives stuck in my back.
And set about erasing all of this reality.
So I bathe to wash the city’s chaos off my body
And vegetate with a tv to dull the remaining images from my eyes
And get ready to return to forgetfulness,
to the kingdom of infinite possibility.
And what is beyond both? the master whispered.
Everything you do from dawn to dusk, he said,
how completely it will disappear in deep sleep.
Even kingdoms of infinite possibility? I asked
Even you, he replied. Look around,
whatever you see is temporary, momentary…
Like a passing dream? I asked.
Yes, he smiled, and stop imagining that the dream is yours.