Dream Poem

Nothing goes as we dream it would
if dreaming is all we do
when awake in the world,

All these streets of noise
and the bad language
of an accelerated life
that became accelerated
beyond the speed
our feet can walk, leap or run
without a stumble
or demand to know
where  one is going
with these bags
and bricks we carry
back and forth
across the street,

These items espied
on the tops of tables
and wet bars
that come to resemble
random small change,
a paper clip
and a torn post it
with a phone number,
no name attached,

The dream of
rooms of empty walls
leading to another room
where you sat
at the other end,
your paintings
and hanging around you,
you lifting your head
from a phone call
to nod at me,

And then I was
on a rooftop
over a skyline
of shifting designs,
I am on a boat
sailing into the bay
and finally
the ocean,
the skyline
gets smaller,
I am back home
suddenly awake
and wanting to
call you
'though I know
you're on another  call
somewhere
in the cloud.