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Nightmares have nightmares of their own. Sometimes elemental, sometimes cultivated, well-matched, comfortable. But terrifying ones, too, of course, frightening us with their humdrum reality. Contradictions collide, but two nightmares do not counter each other out, as you may expect; they merge, becoming a single grey bottomlessness where no-one wants to be, yet where someone finds themselves nevertheless. A nightmare sometimes overflows into reality, tries to drown it. And if the nightmare doesn’t succeed, it fences itself off from reality, founding its own gloomy citadel, which it proudly invites you to visit. Dreams – they are windows from nightmares into non-nightmares. Poems are, too.
Closer to dawn he dreamt about the river of dignity flowing il tempo di adagio. Observing eddies
