I wanted to stay in the dream.
I don't know the dream, only how it felt:
silently noisy, softly pixelated, muted and colorful,
an underwater disco.
Usually I welcome the brassy glare and sharpness
of waking reality. For decades I've leapt from sleep, charging
into consciousness like a rebel soldier. The alarm trumpeting
my assault on the day.
But on this morning waking trickled
into me slowly. I went to relieve myself
leaving my glasses behind. So strange it is
for me to be glassless
I imagine someone asking me
"Where are your glasses?"
I imagine my answer, so real it startles me:
sometimes I tire of the clarity of the world.
Sometimes I crave the fuzz and the blur of the undefined.
Like a red wine stain
on a ball gown
Like a cup of rainbow sherbet
dropped on hot asphalt
Like Christmas decoration spilled
from a toppled trash can
strewn in the dirty alley snow
Like your shimmery, polished toes in the front yard grass
surrounded by tactical boots
because of me.