When Dreams Untie

 It's an occasion
 everyone looking
 top-notch
 tables and waiters everywhere
 and lots of  
 people from my past.
 
My best friend
 from primary school
 looks great
 in a pixie hair cut
 and a shapeless
 orange dress,
 her lips slightly goldened
 but we smile across
 each other
 our eyes
 like repellent magnets
 never touching sight.

 Another friend
 from long ago
 (hair braided tightly,
 two miniature dachshunds
 on bright leashes)
 seems to be the host
 We say words
 towards each other
 like our throats are sore
 and speaking is painful
 and then quickly
 turn away.
 
  Time ticks on
 in awkward disarray
 between living
 and narrating.
 The tables and waiters
 move busily
 and there is the reassuring
 clink of glassware
 glint of silver
 but there is no food
 anywhere
 nor any focus.
 We are all waiting
 like puppets
 limbs moving
 set ready
 but no script
 no story
 just waiting
 for a reason
 to be there.
  
 When I wake
 there is a
 glowing pink bucket-hole
 between the grey clouds
 almost bright enough
 to hurt my eyes
 and the dog
 is upside-down
 paws akimbo
 snoring lightly.

 My chest
 feels the weight
 of threads unsewn,
 the limp dis-ease
 of loose ends.
 I roll over
 just to move;
 needing to find
 the present;
 trying to remember
 coming to bed
 last night;
 trying not
 to let my dream-ache
 unstitch the day.