Instead of taking a nap yesterday, I decided to make a collage. I found my envelope of pictures, leafed through a few magazines, found some more pictures, and then assembled them on a makeshift canvas I had already prepared, made from an empty cereal box.
For some reason I thought of a poem I wrote last year while I was cutting pictures out. The babies caught my eye, so I went back to my old blog and found the poem, which I then doctored up a bit.
I’m not overly excited about my finished results, but it was fun to do. Maybe the poem needs the collage, and the collage needs the poem. However I look at the end result, the process is just as important, maybe even more so, to my well-being as a poet, and as a dreamer. It’s important to honor the dream energy by paying it forward, by doing something with the dream images in waking life. At least it is to me.
***
I Can Make My Babies Fly
In dreams I have babies,
though in waking life
I’m done with birthing.
I bathe them in milk,
rinse their pillowed bodies
at the sink.
Sometimes a herd of bison
will tear through barbed wire
as if to trample us.
I try to outrun
the bellowing beasts
infants in arms,
but everywhere I turn
I’m hemmed in –
chain-link fences,
rivers, spider webs, tall waves,
there’s no option.
If I want the babies to live,
I need to rise up on tiptoes,
hold them high in the sky,
and lift them over the barriers.
Balanced On the Edge 
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