Each night each day
I visit places and see faces
long dead and engage
in complex conversations.
The terrain is
variable –
it can be on the beach
with my dad
or in large and
indeterminate buildings:
dreams can include
travel on foot
missing plane
connections
that are ill-defined
unpreparedness for
examinations
or public
presentations, arrest
for unintentional gaps
in my performance.
Scenes are drawn from memories
stored over seventy
years,
encounters and
fabrications
that may signal incipient
dementia,
losses that chase
through my brain –
children running lost in
a maze –
and then into open
deserts
dark and devoid of
sound
beyond which no-one
knows.
What does it mean to die in one’s sleep?
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