Foreign Dream beside an Antique Floral Bowl

Wrapped in layers of blankets,

lost in a hot dream

that isn’t mine,

I have a discussion

with words from another time

and prepare for an event

in a room I have never seen.

I feel a pain that isn’t mine.

The faces are familiar

and unfamiliar.

The sights, the clothes, the events,

are exact, cutting, real,

but not mine.  Not mine.

*

I wake, dried out, wrung out.

On the dresser, sits a broken bowl

that has been glued back together.

It is an object of another time.

I suspect it of containing the dream.

A broken bowl, glued, sold,

removed to a new locale,

holding an energy,

an energy not always contained,

but sometimes leaking out,

through the cracks.