Dreams

In dreams as I know them,

there are no conclusions:

meetings never take place,

and trains are never caught.

It’s a maze of staircases,

a labyrinth of hallways

which never reach the room,

endless paths and no arrivals.

At the least hint of completion,

there’s a need to turn back,

something lost or left behind,

another round of wandering,

meeting people I think I know,

mismatched faces and voices,

whose advice leads to the next corner

only to turn into another.

All this must be about home,

that place, near and elusive,

so familiar and yet unknown,

the place we yearn to be;

and then at last, at dawn

some bird begins to sing,

and I die to wake,

back where I belong.