Under the ice of sleep
The neophilite*
Isn’t even going to wake.
I sleep,
And he, like a bandit,
Calls
And immediately hides.

It tickles
The subconscious, the truth,
You miss it —
It flashes clean away.
You’ll want
To catch the unthinkable?
You hold out the phone —
Something will fall into it.

The fisherman
Won’t let go of the float,
Attention —
The hunter’s nature.
A nighttime crib sheet
Will polish and clean.
And you’ll proclaim fervently —
It came in a dream!
 ____
*Neophilite (a word unused until now) – capable of filling in a new way.