I wake way before the bell. I know
I have been dreaming. Over bedcovers
My thoughts roll on the side like planets
Turning in their meadow of slow discovery.
I know what I dreamed: on a street of twilight
My poetry teacher walks up the footpath
Where my pockets are holding writings
Of hours and nights
And there is a certain poem I want to show her
A poem of my unknown self
Only I don’t, I cannot find it, then I wake.
It has started to rain; the air carries
The sound of water pressing its delicate nature
Against the glass, as I fall dreaming again
Of a paper-boat coursing down a river
Which in a universe of one meaning is
Freighted with truth and consciousness