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  • By David B. Gosselin

Deep Dreams

I dreamt a dream so deep last night,

I felt I dreamt a thousand years;

I felt I’d lived a thousand dreams—

Dreams bearing not a single seam.

Dreams of Atlantean depth were dreamed—

Dreams deeper than I ever thought I’d dream—

Dreams stranger than an Orphic hymn—

Dreams clearer than a starlit stream.

I dreamt that I was Morpheus’ prey

—Apollo’s thespian oracle—

Pacing beneath the star-struck skies

And praying for a miracle.

Although the dreamless never sleep,

Although the sleepless never dream,

Dreams are the things that make this life

All that it is, or may soon be.

I saw a heart without a key,

Two lovers in a sandy-storm,

Calypso on a wind-hewn isle,

Red roses on a desert dune.

I saw a sword with Dido’s blood—

The secrets of Ophelia’s dreams—

A lilac drowned in summer rains—

A miser lost at heaven’s gates.

The final words from lover’s wintered lips—

A snowflake melting on the vernal wind—

White roses bloom on carnaged fields—

I dreamt that it was all a dream. David Gosselin is a poet, translator, and editor based in Montreal. He writes on Substack at Age of Muses. His collection of poems is entitled Modern Dreams.

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