Out Like a Dozing Lion

I woke up thinking, "You don't know; you can't know.
You don't know and you can't know," as Sarah tossed
and the black sky shouldered a lavender glow.
A flitter of white startled me, a small moth.

I dreamt that our imaginations ran wild,
but they're the offspring of our tame surmises,
whereas every new moment is its own child,
undreamed of and full of its own surprises.

It's brass daylight by now, too bright for moths outside.
Another white fleck, a butterfly, flies by.