Green Dreams
I am dreaming, I think
I’m dreaming
as I try to separate the layers
of real and unreal,
peel them away like the crinkled leaves
of a cabbage.
I’m peeling off the dark green leaves first.
What lies hidden beneath looks
much the same as the outside,
a little less battered, more crinkly,
a little paler with some yellow
languishing in the green,
but fundamentally the same.
Now for the next layer.
There’s a drop of water
shining full of light
and something darker, more solid,
khaki green and brown,
the leavings of some hidden creature.
Another layer reveals the holes
and then,
the sleepy caterpillar
in his cabbage camouflage,
his dietary disguise,
dreaming
of eating his greens.
He’s without his pipe,
without his crown.
So, unsure of
his identity,
much less mine,
I continue my peeling
layer after layer until
I get to the heart of it,
the pale, pale green centre
of naive youth.
Perhaps
I will soon understand
where I’ve come from
and unpack the dream,
find the pipe, put the pieces
together,
make sense of the cabbage,
crown the king.
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