At night, before bed,
Paul takes dreams out of a jar
and swallows them whole.
Ellie deadens her dreams
with red wine purchased
from an oaken cask at her corner tavern.
Dave’s dreams visit him nine times each
until their cat-lives are used up
before a new one appears.
Annie dreams marathons at first sleep
and seagulls following trollers
as the sun first touches her window.
Larry clamshells his dreams
only to nightly envision an octopus
crack them open and feast.
Megan walks a moon drenched beach
her footprints disappearing
almost as soon as her feet clear the sand.
I do not remember my dreams.
I prefer my sacred messages
delivered after tea by angels.
copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney
