I would like to see dreams flow,
descend from the hills into
the flat and sunny fields of morning.
I want it to be a case
of ice-caps melting overnight
and my life suddenly fluid and free
as the kinds of tears that clear the sorrow.
Sure the grass can be uncertain in the wind
and maybe some weeds might upset
their clear green pattern
and stalks of corn reflect
the need for human industry.
But I want something to come out of night,
not more of its oblivion.
Maybe some birds taking off from distant river banks.
Maybe an old truck spluttering by
with a tribe of kids clinging to the running board.
How about trees in the distance,
the still and stately kind,
and a cloud of butterflies,
fluttering about, unconscious of their beauty.
And a dog with tongue out and tail wagging
that even comes up to strangers.
I want dreams to clear out all the questions
that require a "no"
so that when I awaken, my eyes, my mouth,
can say yes to everything.
I want a dream that's not a soporific
for the darkness but a flush,
a cleansing agent.
Dream me pain like it's the end of it.
Dream me doors so I can feel outside.
John Grey, born in Australia, has lived in the USA since the 1970s. His work has recently appeared in Slant, Briar Cliff Review, and Albatross and is forthcoming in Poetry East, Cape Rock, and REAL.
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