Turn In

Dreaming on the evening porch,

Literally, lit-er-al-ly

Before you even know it,

You wake up with your last words

To the interlocutor

Of the dream all you recall—

We know which life is the dreamed

Since we forget it faster.

You write that down and ponder.

At the start of sleep, often

There’s a segment before dreams

In which nothing’s remembered.

And, when sleeping between dreams,

Also, nothing’s remembered,

And all those amnesias

Hit instantaneously,

Remainin complete until

You wake or you start to dream.

When awareness winks for good,

There could have been dementia

Or a clear head beforehand,

But once awareness is gone,

The amnesia is total—

In fact, the truth’s the reverse

Of that claim you remembered

From your dream—you know the dream

Since it’s what fades more slowly.

No. It’s when you’re not dreaming

That you recall or forget

Anything you’d been dreaming,

And when you’re not dreaming, dreams

Do fade faster than what’s not

Dreaming—but what’s not dreaming

And what was dreaming vanish

In a blink together when

Awareness stops awaring.

You’re still on the porch and still

Dying, but you should turn in.

You’re feeling sleepy again.