My Dream Puddle

As I reach down
into my puddle of dreams,
 
I try to grasp the one
of me having the
 
perfect piano recital. It gets
farther and farther away
 
until I lose yet another
dream. But then a nudge
 
against my knuckle.
I grasp whatever has brushed
 
up against my hand.
I pull out the fish-like
 
dream and dry it so it
won’t slip from my hands.
 
I enjoy the colors
the dream lets off
 
and the wonderful music,
the colors changing at every note,
 
the fins moving at each chord,
the gills keeping the beat.
 
But then the dream starts to stink,
and its colors fade
 
and I pace down the beach.