We dream and wake with eyes still closed
imagining the world outwith the night
as mysterious and foreign
speaking a language unknown … yet it isn’t.
We think we are here
for the day’s newest pleasures and pains
but perhaps we are here for the dreams at night
so we can create other worlds
where there are beings similar to all we know
yet they stand a better chance than we —
evolving as we offer them our confusion to transmogrify
like a puzzle gifted in a box.
All the pieces are contained within,
each being removes a piece at a time
to examine and smell and touch
its rough edges or smooth long side or bumpy nodules
that fit somewhere unexpected by color or preconception.
The night is our real world perhaps,
our dreams the manifestation of a window
into a parallel universe where we watch
in awe as problems are sorted
like the blue puzzle pieces here to this side
and the yellow over there
and the straight-edged here,
becoming organized —
so that the image will emerge quickly
from our sorting and prompt recognition
that perception has its value.
Dreams are the world of possibility for us
yet real for those we walk with in the dead of night,
our footsteps silent near theirs,
they imagine us watching them
and glance over a shoulder … but we are the unseen.