The Blue Bed

I sleep on a high blue bed
between clouded mountains.
I am growing a new brain.
This one will be sparkly
and fine; it will float
in the fluid of compassion.

I sleep flanked by two fine
dogs on a high blue bed
between brushed green
cotton and purple flannel.
I am growing a new heart.
I will beat to the rhythm

of dreams. Who is it that
wakes in the mornings on
a high blue bed in this bowl
of thick cloud? Is the waker
fashioned from this real, or
this imagined, world?