Where do these things fit?
In the bus ride of my dream,
memory disappears and yet memory is it.
Life looks for permanence,
the permanent its essence,
but this immortal dream
(Socrates and my girlfriend speaking)
dissolves in a sunbeam.
I wake to the humdrum:
the pointless, the mortal, the dumb.
Give me that dream again, which goes
into the past, the light which knows.