Sweet Dreams

We had sweet dreams, once, of our own,
but dreams are not like real people,
who stay away when they’re dead.

They visit again often;
they are fantasies and nightmares
that tell me that I’m here
and you’re gone,

or that I’m gone
and you’re waiting for me.

And I can’t figure out whether I want to sleep or dream or
wake up and die.

I keep trying to believe that our dreams could’ve come true,
but maybe that depends on what it means to wake up.