Then the dream,
if it was the dream
stole me away from the waking, running through
the shadow of eyes which shadowed the eyes and,
nose candy, clear white,
cut by the knife of the unwaking night,
sped by the jet stream into one more run fast dream,
if it was the dream.

I climbed Everest then, in the dream
if it was the dream,
infinitely exciting, the backdrop lighting
up the snow, but cold, so cold.

I wear away, like the mountain
I crumble more every day
and one day when the dream,
if it was the dream, comes,
it will come to steal me and
find the real me
waiting.