The Good Part of the Dream

You sit in sunlit morning
And borrowed hovel, thinking,
Those colors are vivid, grand,

Thrown by the sun through plastics,
Leaves, stained glass, and paint, the art
Of happenstance. The wealthy

Are in the news by name, next
To pictures of suffering
Among anonymous poor,

Who actually do have names,
But who cares? You don’t. You do
Have a name unknown as theirs,

But right now nothing much hurts.
You’re relaxed. You’ve fed. You watch
The sun light the window dust,

Thinking, this is the good part
Of the dream. If you wake up
This moment, you’ll wake up pleased.