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.

2012