It was late one night
But the moon shone so bright
My body was tricked into day.

An old woman appeared
And immediately I feared
That I�d dreamt her and she�d soon go away.

"I see that your sleep it betrays,
It keeps you far at bay,
Like the heart of a fickle lover.

But you can tame it my dear,
You will soon know it fears
Being exposed under the covers.

Come, we must go
To the place where forgotten dreams go
After we wake and tear them apart."

Perhaps she sensed my misgivings,
But her face remained kind and forgiving
And she placed her wrinkled hand on my heart.

"My dear, you�re too pretty a soul
To allow daylight to cajole
You to think mystery is unveiled in the light.

If you come with me now
I can show you just how
To find those lost pieces at night."

"When you wake from slumber to look at the clock,
That is the record of the moment you forgot
The piece that makes sense of it all.

Later perhaps, it tries to return,
A goose bump, Deja vu, reverie that burns�
It escapes through the details ever so small."

With heavy eyes I gazed to her face
Searching for something that wouldn�t erase
The answers I found in my sleep.

So I did as she asked,
And with hands that were clasped,
I followed this promise to keep.

I thought I�d be led
Far from this world but instead
We crept up my own attic stairs.

Beneath my lifes� relics and dust
Try though I knew that I must
I still remained painfully unaware.

"Don�t you see?" She exclaimed
Her spirit enflamed
"This is the place where forgotten dreams go!

There--it�s the prayer on your lips
Or when your heart skips
At that old song on the radio.

It�s there in his kiss
The one that you miss
When your smile looks for something to do.

In that book that you read
And the in tears that you shed
Because beauty was revealed only to you.

It�s on a fresh page
That waits for the sage
Words of a written stain."

My tears began to fall
At my moment of recall:
A poem with a long-forgotten refrain.

"It�s the smirk between happenstance and irony.
Breathe in a scent and exhale a memory.
Everything and nothing is what as it seems."

At that she smiled and led me to bed.
"It�s the nature of dreams to forget all that I�ve said
On this tour of the attic of dreams.

The morning will find you at peace and more whole,
Your heart clutching the map to the place where forgotten dreams go.

And as I do every night, I�ll lead you there once again tomorrow."

�2006 Tracey Henry