Nighttime's rest evades me of late,
Waking long before the hour of eight.
Sweet dreams and nightmares wake me, amalgamated --
A compensation for day's despairs which I've abated.
From sleep I have this vision of a sun-kissed dusty road--
A familiar place from which this story did forebode:
There came two women in a speeding car who, at my sight, did slow
And both inquired about this path on which I solemnly strode.
I squinted my eyes and I cocked my head,
Saw a traffic boot on their car tire and said,
"This path is a diversion from the realities we've fled."
The two women laughed, and soon away their car had sped.
I was left in a cloud of their dust, feeling very much alive--
Accepting, somehow fully, that their booted car could drive.
Now I see that none of slumber's sanity did survive,
And yet on that dusty path, I somehow still did thrive.