(seven of cups, Rider-Waite)
As when one steps suddenly
from a darkened room into
the mid-summer sun, I wake into
the dream, stunned that I forgot.
My cup overflows into this day,
and I drown beneath its visions
of desire and fear. Not my dreams,
but the ones which are allowed.
Do we forget our self each night
when we fall asleep the way
we forget our dreams when we wake?
Or do we linger within each?
I see myself shuffled upon a table,
waiting for an easy interpretation.
(July 24, 2023)
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