Traces of REM

Traces of REM

A phrase
in a passing phase

Bits of conversation
      with myself,
              faint light in darkness

Meaningless to outsiders
              unable to translate
      REM traces beneath eyelids

This time a poem,
              on a page floating,
rolling like a wave in the air

Words forming in typeface,
      jostling for position,
drifting over a white field

Drifting from sleep,
      glancing at the clock
              through slit eyelids

      Urge to wake,
             to rise and record,
overridden by REM too inviting

Back to those phrases,
      now verses
              nearly formed

Meaningless next morning,
      with little to parse
in traces of REM

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