'Some Mornings / Last Night.' (A Prose Poem)

Some mornings I feel
Like
I'm a piece of paper
A piano wire
Some mornings it feels
Like every message I read
Is written to me
I am played
I am written
I feel like I am a shiny surface
A large pane of glass
In an office building
Tinted
Rain drops hit
And run down
Last night I dreamt
I was surrounded
By
Hundreds of glasses, of different types
Piles of crockery all stacked together
Different sizes
Piles of clothes
I don't know where they came from
All these things
Later in the dream I return to the place
Which was in Sydney I think
Or was it Canberra? / Or was it a new room,
Purpose built
In the garden
Beside
My childhood home
In Glen Waverley, Melbourne?
With the old gum tree down the back of the yard
And in summer the asphalt on the road in front
Would boil
And the low brick fence
Would bake
That was my world
That street
Martin Place
Occasionally I google it and zoom down
And revisit that feeling
See the house
The street
Still the same
A big house has been built next door
But my childhood home is still there
Its once bright red tiled roof
Faded
In the dream when I returned to all these items
They have all been packed away
In neat, new cardboard boxes
There were a few items still to be packed
But most of the work had been done.

Clinton De Vere
15.09.12
Düsseldorf,
Germany