Recurringly, I dream of babies
The word for which they say there is no rhyme
Sometimes unborn, sometimes newborn
My dreams remove me from the present place and time.
And in my dreams I’m often pregnant
I do not doubt no rhyme for this exists
Like Sarah, I waxed old, I find on waking
But still in sleep fecundity persists.
And frequently I dream of danger
Of assassins but, evading every threat,
I slip right past the barrel of the pistol
No predator can catch me in his net.
I dream of meals I don’t consume
And coitus interrupted by my waking
In dreams of food and sex
One does not taste the flavour of partaking.
Occasionally I dream I’m dead
This also lacks a proper consummation
As I still see and hear and feel
Excluded though I am from conversation.
The cause of dreams is in our lives
Read your life in consultation with your dreams
With Freud and Jung kept close at hand
To guarantee not much is as it seems.