Every night lately, I wake from dreams. In one, I flew over a cliff of falling water as wide as half a planet. Once a lady with a red lantern floated up with a silver balloon into an evening sky of planes and missed her ride. Last night, I sank in a collapsing hole of sand before strangers pulled me free.
The dreams linger into my daylight and hover at the edge of my imagination as if expecting me to do something with them. I have no idea what that might be. Uncertainty prevails. The best I can do, it seems, is claim them as my own.