I dreamt today a dream I dreamt last night,
A blurrèd wash of scenery and sight:
Two helices entwined with not a seam
To spiral up and up into night’s gleam.
And I, on its high peak, at such a height
Could see the source of boreal ur-light:
It is a thing that’s not what it does seem
As hid in sheaths of softly rustling dream.
So dream I do, in my unconscious state,
And watch these dreams imprint my mind’s stained slate,
While real and false each other rearrange,
And know I not what should I now to feel,
Reality transposed to realms so strange—
This life is dream; or what I dream is real.