early morning dreams come true

where do these night images come from?
these intense encounters in airy apartments
illicit conversations in beach town alleyways
intense gray light shining through a skylight
windswept rain on your wedding day
a gaunt man’s white beard nodding cryptically...
awake, and the images start to lose their power
exorcised through hot coffee and corporate reality
the padding of little feet...
but, recently, some have stayed with me
through toddler disciplines, early morning running and chores chores chores
incessantly tapping me on the shoulder during every free moment
neutered outside of the dream realm
through a glass darkly
sad attendants to fallen gods
they mutely insist on something – but what?
are they just the random firing of neurons while the body rests?
the play of consciousness while the ego sleeps?
a brain working through the voluminous input of the day?
a portal to lands where archetypal beings play?
Quantum Theory sez that we make our reality by observing
but what if we’re not actively observing?
what creates the reality of a dream?
and what decides what dreamscapes remain and which go?
what a fickle confident is memory!
and throughout it all, "reality" beats on
each step bringing me closer to death
every moment closing off other paths to other realities
every moment an alluring lost opportunity
the dreamscapes dance in my mind and
not finding a partner, spin off into the fog of the crowd...
will I see them again?
in a drunken stupor?
in a quiet place?
on my deathbed, the eternal moment stretched out before me?
or are they gone for good