It came to you before night, before sleep
The fact that watchmen dream of sleep
While still drunk and dreaming, dreams
Within dreams, like mirrors into mirrors
Endlessly entering, never to turn back.
You drink cool milk and chocolate to calm
Your nerves before sleep, as there is a fire
In the belly, not the one they use to drive
Up the north, in the mountains and pine
Needles on floor, to collect a few in pockets.
You are concerned with foam mattresses
Left to dry in the sun by a drunk watchman
Who has smelly dreams of own to dream.
There is sunshine in his dreams, in his eyes
Betrayed by a nose-smell of alcohol in air.
Your mattresses are ready for your dreams.
You have poems that begin afresh each day.
Your dreams are in poems, poems in dreams
In eyes deeply red with forgetful liquids.