It’s no surprise I should
dream so many dreams
when I sleep in beds
where many dreamers
have slept – their images
free as imago butterflies,
their poems, precise as
Greek pots and their stories
rising like Escher’s staircases
all invade my own word-filled
head – but why, last night,
did the blue bus, full of people,
tip into the river, why did
I know for sure, I would drown?
Ty Newydd, 23rd November 2010
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