Your Younger World

Every world is younger, deep in your skull,
But you’re rarely confused except dreaming,

And the question isn’t really, why dreams?
But uselessly, hopelessly, why those dreams?

That’s the real reason you’re interested.
Why that particular weirdness for you?

Of all that’s going on in waking life,
Why this dreaming, where some of your ghosts live

But some never visit, where your youth longs
For blurred humans who never existed,

Where physics works sometimes but not always,
Where you are lonely as when you’re awake?