Redreaming Daydreaming Midnight

In the dream dreamed by day
On a sickbed in sun
During a fickle May,

The woods grew back again,
Back savage, rough, and stern,
Dark as ever and then

Darker, taller, taller,
Trees knitting roots like fists,
The space growing smaller

For anything not wood,
The forest a protest
Like a mob in its mood,

A quietly brooding
Crowd growing quieter,
Even the breeze moving

Further away from dense
Tangles of thick branches,
Life so massed, so intense

There was no room for death,
No place for mere being,
Just the slow, dark breathing

Of that crowded forest
Over the dreamer’s head.
There is a world more just,

Less cruel, more honest, but
Just as fueled by longing
In every daydreamed thought,

An unbewilderment
Prior to wilderness,
Returning internment.