“Waking Dreams”
collaboration between Albert Kim, illustrator, and Carey Wallace, poet
We all dream the same dream
every night
we dream the world broken like glass
then flung out against the black sky
the towers and the crowds
the voices in the hall
the city streets bent back against themselves
the everlasting fall
the door, the tree, the letter
we seek and never find
and all of it, in one heartbeat
erased by light
At the gates to Dreamland,
I found a man
sitting like a statue
hat in his hand
“What are you waiting for?” I asked.
“The gates are open.”
He shuddered, and then whispered low,
“For me, they never close.”
Darling, here’s a lullaby
at the end of the world
I made it out of sticks and stones
and songs that I have heard
a piece of glass
the long way back
from waking life to dreams
a bit of string
and everything
we never dreamed we’d see
I closed my eyes
the sky turned white
skyscrapers became
horizon
in the distance,
a stand of black trees
murmured all the secrets
I never wanted to keep
and when I reached them
and walked among the falling leaves
they told me other things
that they’d seen, in their dreams:
great trees planted by the water
strong roots cracking city streets
lovers, lying in the shade
interpreting the breeze
I was happy there,
in that world that didn’t turn
but once you leave a dream,
you can never return.
Sleep, the nights we spent were sweet
the moments passed on dappled grass
all the dreams we shared, all the times
you were all I had
How did I betray you?
And where have you gone?
Without your love, these cold nights
run on and on and on
She wouldn’t tell me
if it was fear or rage
that bent her pretty arms
and twisted her face
but when I sang a lullaby
she began to shake
sleep had been her lover once
although she wouldn’t say his name
and when he left, she had believed
that she was also safe from dreams
but with sleep gone, she discovered
she had no defense against them
And now they came at any hour
no longer slaves of night
parading through her days
as if they were her life
while vines twined around her waist
and roots ate up her legs
I offered to cut her loose.
“But they’re all I have,” she said.
My own dreams fled from me
but when I looked down the street
I could see the other houses
caught in their snowbanks of sleep
and over each of them
danced each lonely sleeper’s dreams
like a hundred movies playing
on a hundred vanished screens
a woman walking down a hall
that grows longer with every step
silent clowns crowding, curious
around a frightened child’s bed
and the child beside her
who now knows how to fly
but can’t stop herself from rising
ever higher in the sky
violets that turn to sparrows
mirrors that turn into doors
the boy trembling on the high wire
as the crowd roars out for more
strains of singing through the flames
as the house burns to the ground
and on the empty midway
the carousel spun round and round
all night long I wandered
among strangers’ dreams
and this way, forgot my own
until morning
The monster in the mirror
shook his shaggy head
his fangs were like bone daggers
his eyes were sad
I bowed my head
and he bowed his
when I raised my hand
his touched the glass
“I have to wake up,” I whispered.
“You are awake,” he said.
A dream, but what’s a dream? They say:
a bit of mist, a breath of steam
but they are just the newest fools
who only know what they can see
even though they are all blind men
when lost in their own dreams.
A dream may not rest on a scale
or submit to live in a jar
but though we can’t catch lightning in our hands
we don’t deny its power
and after all, every dream
no matter how slight
has strength enough inside itself
to hold back the whole weight of night
Lullaby, don’t ask why
the stars vanish
while angels sigh
the wind makes
the pine trees shake
and your heart
makes my heart ache.
Lullaby, don’t ask why
its only for a little while
the night is proud to be so dark
but only proud for an hour
in an instant, dawn will break
and night will be
a memory
Lullaby
if you cry
your hand will still
be in mine
as a beggar
or a thief
a dream is still
only a dream
but love is real
and it can stand
the light of morning.
www.albertkim.com
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