I do not like the places I go to, in my dreams. My sadness at separation From the beloved children Is, while being worked on, Hidden deep in my heart. The sorrow of the end Of more than three decades of marriage Lurks there, too, In the dark crevices of my heart The wrongs I have done: the hurts I have caused The many things I could have done better…. All these are not, as I thought, Dealt with, and forgotten. They hang, with sharp little burrs, In my subconscious mind. Perhaps this is why I rarely dream; Because, when I do, I go to these places. I feel, once again, What I do not want to feel. That I thought I’d discarded… No, I just seem to have buried them Beyond the reach of my everyday thoughts. They come out, and mock me. Sadness, loneliness, regrets: They once again assail me. I wish they would not. I do not like the places I go to, in my dreams.