more old poetry: the washing of the dreams

(as I populate this site with items I had posted elsewhere, I realize how few I mean to keep, but this one is okay, albeit I tweaked it…)

I walk
to the shore
with a basket
of dreams

You have to be careful
to separate them
wash like ones
together
or the colors run

all along the water
so many other dreamers
scrubbing their dreams
like an assembly line

I rinse them carefully
slap them against
the granite rocks
and place them back
in the basket

Back home
I hang them on the line
they look so threadbare
in the sun
but I’m loath to replace them

you can’t get them
in that size or shape
anymore

 

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