rapid i movement

I want to wake up
No more of this tangling the sheets in a
merciless mirror of my mind at four in the morning,
breathing as if startled, but not knowing why,
every four minutes for the rest of the night
(a minute for every dream… not enough time)

I want to wake up,
but with my dreams in my pocket
so I know where to reach if I need them
I want to catch them in a butterfly net and carry them
around with me in silvery strings to strum like a violin
I want to preserve them in a glass jar like
fireflies, so they can illuminate my way and
keep the night behind their wings

I want to wake up in the morning
with my dreams beneath my pillow
(right where I left them)
Never do I want to see another morning
of waking up to find that they are gone
and replaced in the middle of the night
with a dime by the reality fairy

Then I wonder:
Where does she store such dreams?
Does she take them as her own
and lose her mind (then her wings)
Or does she lock them in a shining vault
of realism and real jobs
with all the other dangerous things
so they can never hurt anyone again
Or does she take them in her arms
all at once, and treasure them like you
(used to), once upon a time when you could
believe that they would never leave you