Dreams don’t always work the way they play
out in their dreaming, not unless I take
them at their word, believe in what they say
about how I am meant to be awake.
Like origami treasures, they unfold
into new creases passed from mind to hand
to turn into new shapes to have, to hold
as long as morning’s memory can stand.
For only tongues that are awake can lie.
My dreamer dreams the truest truth without
her smokey mirrors. My dreamer knows how I
can best confound my doubter and her doubt.
Dreams don’t work except when I believe
in what I let reality conceive.