Dreams fly free,
Embracing phantom lovers,
Absent friends, lost
In a rubble of memory,
Inhabiting imagined worlds—
A body forms from thought:
Choirs of humming synapses
Enfleshed and wandering.
A dream is a physical thing.
I dreamed I was on
The soft edge of sleep,
Dark, warm, adrift.
A small, frightened thing
Fluttered onto my lap.
I held an injured bat,
As soft as a kitten,
As ravening as night,
Felled by a broken wing.
A dream is a physical thing.
I held her close, a gift
To protect. Animal
Wisdom guided my hand
Across dark fur, onto
The wing’s trembling leather
To touch her injury.
She bit my hand;
I felt her fear
As I felt her sting.
A dream is a physical thing.
She vanished. I awoke,
Got out of bed,
Showered, dressed, and ate.
Without thinking, I massaged
The back of my hand,
Soothing a forgotten injury,
A non-material wound
In nerve remaining.
A dream is a physical thing.
