Dream Catcher Poem by Joan Xie

I often wonder how to catch a dream,
Sitting Bull knows, Usain Bolt knows, they all seem to know.
High hang the hoops trimmed by smoked leather,
Those flowing feathers, from eagles and crows,
fluttering on the bed poles. Good dreams, they let it pass,
but bad ones, they catch them.
I often wonder what a bad dream can tell.
after it's caught, what does it confess?
Those vivid nightmares. Those subconscious flares:
a bloody stream, a cat walks to the moon and comes back,
and so, and so…