This is what dreams are supposed to be like--
Running with war-paint on your face,
And even though it's on your cheeks and forehead
You can see it.
The jungle roars past you as you
But you don't step on the wrong
Spiky fallen branch, or
On the ubiquitous gnarled roots.
And then you
Into the pond, and
You can breathe
And you're surprised for only a moment
That you can breathe water
And accept it
Because that's what dreams are all about--