Life, you're a broad enough word to

address this mere question:

why have you dreamt me so?

A wide-eyed clod outdone by a wider

grin, won't you tell?

You who'll dream the bones of me,

let on...spill the beans to your baby

boy.

I'm in fine condition to smooth the

flap of that dog-eared day-dream.

There's nothing I could offer you, is

there, a butterfly perhaps?

Aren't you the least tickled by the sly

prods of these questions, desirous as

they are...I suspect they beget more

dreams of me, best to shut up now.