Dream of a River

I don’t know
what I look like in my dreams.
The clear facade I wear
when I’m awake,
disrobes in the silent dark,
to release
an amorphous, formless me,
a vague, pixelated me,
who can run and fall and be afraid,
who can love and cry,
and viciously hate.
Perhaps, I must dream of a mirror
that will return my gaze,
or of a furrowed river
that will reveal my face.
But I cannot stay up
to steer my dreams,
the slumbering I
can’t hear my screams.
So an obscure figure
still consumes the light,
a vacant visage
still floats in the night.

I don’t know
what I look like in my dreams.
But those sightless eyes
have a fairer view,
those soundless sighs
sing far more true.