I too have dreams
That leave me shaken.
I awake broken
Identity torn between dimensions.
I too try to peel off the label whole
Like the seal to a secret tome.
Like a speakeasy password
To my own hidden haven.
I too wander between worlds
Sometimes high on my own words
Sometimes desperate
For the next hit of inspiration.
I visited your city once
In a cruel month of snowless cold.
The shards of people's broken hopes
Scarred me and left me empty.
When I wake, it is not to sirens or horns.
When I sleep, it is peaceful.
When I leave my house, I smell earth,
I greet children, I see trees.
I would not trade my rustic life
For the excitement of your city
But like you I am grateful
For the visits I receive in my dreams.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Funny! I thought I was reading the earliest of your poems (I guess my finger missed its mark) when I saw this. With Glen and Gotham both in the title, it had to be me(!) Like you, dear Suzanne, I’m glad not to live in Gotham. But it’s a blessing, a relief, yes? , whenever we are visited amidst our literal or figurative gothams. -Glen
Hi Glen, I guess you think this song is about you, don't you, don't you? (And you'd be right. But that was when I had read your poems but didn't know you.)