New Dreamform

I host disoriented dreams of late.
My sleep is light – the borderline between
awake or not is weak and inchoate.
A rise to consciousness occurs without
a sense of my location or the date.
And what is interrupted, when I rouse?
Particulars of puzzles that await
my pleasant efforts with a pen or screen,
and seem a natural way to recreate.

(Magic 9)

This entry was posted in Aging, Personality, Poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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