The garden considered


It’s the view from the dream, when the colors grey into coming night and that river in the distance is the path your thoughts will take, meandering, carrying you around the bend unto a place no one can find on any map.  You don’t know where the dreams come from.  They come to you with such intensity, press their meanings firmly.  The emotion’s current is strong, and yet I cannot remember any of it once morning comes.  Do I know these places?  How are these my thoughts when they come to me so strangely?