Retreating into Dreams Is Frightening

It's midnight in the forest,
And while the moon is out and clear,
Homes invisible to daylight reappear
As what they are, not houses,
Not cottages in which faeries live,

Just sheer projections of forest,
Inessential, durable gossamer,
The places that thoughts retreat
Into when they are not thoughts

But dreams, nothing much at all

Like sunny thoughts that think ways

Through the rustling hunger of leaves
And needles for a daylight stronger
Than these disturbing reflections
The moony midnight homes provide.