He said, “I survived the war,
was up to my armpits in water
wading through the night
through the rice plants
that would never bear grain
once we called in the orange.
I walk through minefields,
the noise a deafening silence
since the only sound that mattered
was the click that shouted death
You think Ii have issues now
and in your mind I certainly do
but you my issues didn’t go away
like Jamie’s, he heard that click and a moment
later his issues were gone, and the moon
was painted blood red that night
and it inhabits my dreams still.


The gulf between dream and nightmare is easily bridged in a single step. It should not be a step taken lightly, but one taken in both directions. We coddle dreams, dread nightmares, but we tell them apart on a level neither they nor we can hope to understand. Both are reality. Neither is reality. And the gulf between the real and the unreal is one we cannot hope ever to bridge.