A day or so ago, I posted about my ability to sleep. And I can. 10-11 hours a night, I can sleep. And I dream a lot, though I don't share many of them here because they aren't interesting.
Here's a poem from over 8 years ago that bears all that out.
Winter Dreams of Mine
I dream more than most people I talk with about dreams.
My Dream-Maker seems to go full tilt all night,
especially in winter when the wind wails
and whispers of sleet slide against the windows.
My dreams are not earth shattering, not prophecies
from a poet-god, nor are they full of advice.
Mostly, they are mundane--ordinary things:
often I am building something, a gizmo I understand not;
other times I am walking through strange lands,
seeing things I do not comprehend...but never afraid.
I have no nightmares these days.
Sometimes I dream of sleeping in the bed with you.
I dream of waking up and watching you sleep
and then dozing off again to dream of sleeping.
I dream of extremely hairy black dogs sitting on my head
and golden cats--like tiny lions--opening the door
to the room and falling asleep on my feet.
Just the other night, I dremt I woke to your saying:
"can I have a drink of water?" and getting up to run
the water cold before filling the glass. Then I dreamed--
amazing as it is, that you brought me water and said:
"you won't remember this when you wake up...."
But I did remember and when I woke, I wore a Puli like a hat
and the cat by my feet stirred and lept from the bed.
I heard you downstairs making coffee.
"Let the day begin!" I said, anxious to see you,
just as I slipped back under the winter covers
and slept, hoping to dream of getting up and joining you.
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- On dodging bullets
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