within

on rainy evenings, within a dream,
i sleep on the top floor of a tall building;
all the windows of the building curve out
like a bubble every time i exhale,
then back in when i inhale.

all this happens in an abondoned city,
a faded metropolis of no color except grey
and pale yellow, and a watercolor pink
on the horizon at sunset.

it's always sunset, and i am always sleeping,
my skyscraper breathing.
i sleep on a white hammock inside a studio apartment,
otherwise empty except a fan that runs on high.

Outide my dream is reality, where rain
paints my window translucent, makes a steady noise,
cools off the world; but i am unconscious
of the rain. I am trapped in a world of my own,
at the very top of a city that doesn't exist: snoring.