Dreams have always been vital they are the wing
I fly to a consciousness of old truth.
Now I do not dream much but when I do
I visit places I have been before in earlier dreams.
Meeting people say hello we have not seen for a long time.
The landscape is thorny and cannot be shared by those
who are ignorant of hidden tracks?
It is strange to see familiar faces of those of old dreams
they remember I was a cobbler who worked for free.
My phone does not ring it has s modern chant.
While is asked I by the lake when I'm moving in always.
But will I leave when you no longer stroke my hair
tells me you do not love me anymore.