This Is The Dream Poem by James McLain

Speaking softly of all that went on today.
I have weakly said that I swear by your hand.
I have said but you make my head go to bed.
Tomorrow but tonight up against right before.
The window of our destiny all of their misfortune.

Whose chance is smallest?
Because do I ask with her share.
I immediately before falling asleep go away.
Perhaps,
like the boat which floats down in hope.

My body this body dressed in orange by all seen.
Where I am, who it is that I am, whom but the few knew.
I am sitting there waiting near the door of your room.
Resting my head full against it.
Facing the porch through the moving dream window.
I fell asleep.
Touching the one you would open and come out of.