One day I dreamt
Of the paint peeling off the Earth’s skin, in chunks
And saw
You, me and everyone else
Stooping down to pick up the pieces
To hoard for our grandkids

Knowing it wouldn’t make a difference
I didn’t get up

On another day I dreamt
Of the brown leaves becoming human
Before dropping off the branches
In the beginning of Fall

I slept sound that night

If I were an artist I would paint
If I were human I would live
If I were insane I would ramble
If I were a poet I would sleep

Mostly, I dream of the rain
Heavy rain
And the brown leaves trying to flutter
And getting wet, and sticking to the mud
And trying to reach…

My slumber grows deeper and deeper…