What are dreams made of,
Can you hear them,
What sounds do they make?
I can hear his bag hit the floor
Dust settling from the old leather
The Sandman is a storyteller
He opens his notebook and begins
Making circles with his pen
Dragging it around the paper
The ink becomes a pool
Cool and blue
A whirlpool
A black hole
A window
Dust falls from his cuffs
Onto the paper
Making the ink dirty
Now there are stars
The pool
Becomes a galaxy
Over an ocean
At midnight
And inside here
This window
Are his stories
But I’m asleep now
And so are you
And now we are in those stories
And we know
The sounds
Dreams make
As they move about
If you listen you can hear them