Poems (Kennedy)/Stuff of Dreams
THE "STUFF" OF DREAMS
WHAT is the "stuff" of which our dreams are made? So sang the poet years ago. Come theyThrough opening of a book closed some long while—A face glimpsed in a crowd—a smileThat lit the world one rose-hued mile? Are these the forces that our slumbers know, These tender glimpses of the past? Yea, these;And likewise salmon salad, shrimps and cheese!
Whence are they born, those visions that enthrall Our senses through the moon-white hours? Drift theyOn snatch of song that waked a memory strainOf lips that kissed and sang againAnd hands whose touch was rapture's pain? Are these the mystic, unseen powers That build our dreams from nothingness? No doubt:And likewise hot tamales and sauer kraut!