The Dreaming

Telling stories about the world
At a campsite in Montana,
A world obviously nothing

Like any of our story worlds,
Too many people, trucks, and trees,
Too many random incidents,

The light in the ponderosas,
That giant mushroom on the stump,
The details that will not cohere,

It occurs to someone talking
Avidly about last night's dreams
That dreams are as unlike the world

As the world is unlike stories
And as much more incoherent,
That much further from narration.

We are most ourselves in stories,
The distillation of human
Into clarified adventure

False to the world that's false to dreams,
And if we have to ask ourselves
If we are awake, we are not.