Lucid

by ALYSE KNORR

 

Froze up
scattered & thawed: you on a stage forever
& me in my seat with flowers and coat—
there is no way to prove

the truth
(“realistic, vivid”) but to ask the dreamer.
But you require so many types of a-
wareness, love: memory, 
    
setting, 
clarity, identity. Capacity,
state, & meaning. My heart has more rooms than
that round hotel where you 

laid me
out flat as a hypothesis. What I mean:
you put my heart on the elevator
& my impulse to trust

that dream
as real
was so strong that I invented a
story to account for it. A backwards
truth. A recognition 

slide. If
the mind perceives
you reaching for my face—time
a dreadnought anchor I’ve finally pulled
ashore—it will believe

this is
real
. My lips on your collarbone citrus green  
& actual. Sound of my name in your voice
again & finally. 

Listen: 
“whatever I have accepted until now
as most true [love was a natural talent]
has come to me through my 

senses.” 
I will always assume your realities  
& ghosts. But once the dreamer wakes, absurdit-    
y will surface
. “Occa-

sionall-
y my senses have deceived me, & it is
unwise to trust completely those who have
deceived us even once.”