Last night I dreamed about a man
I've never met before.
He held fresh flowers, smiled then,
Right there, at my door.

We spoke a bit, then I woke up,
The morning cut the scene.
But questions overflow my cup:
Who was that man I’d seen?

So, I am now pondering
The strangers in my dreams,
And why they are conquering
My thoughts - that's how it seems.

But are these strangers in my visions
Really strangers though?
Or did we have short collisions
A long, long time ago?

Maybe we have met before?
A passenger on the train?
A customer in a grocery store?
Profiles saved in my brain?

Does my mind perhaps contain
A secret store of faces?
Of people passing through my lane,
Leaving unseen traces?

What if we dreamed the same strange dream,
At once, in secret time?
He saw me drift upon the stream,
As I saw him in mine?

Neither of us will ever know,
‘Cause we have never met,
And we can’t talk about the show;
How interesting is that?

And one last question chills my mind,
The thought just makes me scream:
How often have I been assigned
A role in someone’s dream?