Dream Space

I'm trying to recall my dream from last night. We (not sure who else was there, saw no face but felt like it was Sam or Steve) were in a house and someone came home that threatened our safety. So I killed them with a plastic knife or fork (this might have something to do with watching "Hot Tub Time Machine" before bed). I remember wiping down anything I touched to remove my fingerprints from the scene. It was happened in the kitchen. For some reason my dogs were there too. Both Bubbles and Gunther weren't wearing their collars. They got out of the house and we couldn't find them. I was walking around the neighborhood asking if anyone saw them. I stood in the middle of the street calling Gunther and Bubbles' name and sure enough little Gunther comes running down the street to me and Bubbles follows shortly after. I picked up Gunther and gave him such a squeeze; I cried hard when they came back. The crying was so emotionally intense I felt as if I really was crying in my sleep, my physical self that is. This is when I woke up; not crying.

The only time I woke up crying because of a dream was when I dreamed of my grandfather. I can't really remember what the dream was all about but I do recall how real it was and how very much alive he was in it. He even spoke to me, gave me some sort of advice pertaining to the dream but I'm sure it had a deeper meaning to what was going on in my life at the time. I cried because he was so real and lively but woke up and he was still gone.

So enough about my dreams, here is my daily attempt at writing. I did not put much time or effort into this and should spend more time on this soon. But here goes.


"Not Enough"

I put too much lemon in tea,
not enough honey.
I put too much soy milk in cereal,
not enough space.
Watching the hibiscus flowers reopen in the simmering water -
the fuchsia liquid makes me feel like an ancient native
preparing to dye sacramental cloths.
It temporarily dyes my white sink pink.