What Do Animals Dream?

Do they dream of past lives and unlived dreams Unspeakably human or unimaginably beastial? Do they struggle to catch their slumber What is too slippery for the fingers of day? Are their subtle nocturnal intimations To illuminate their undreaming hours? Are they haunted by spectors of regret Do they visit their dead in drousy gratitude? Or are they revisited by their crimes Transcribed in tantalizing heiroglyphs? Do they retrace the outline of their wounds Or dream of transformation, instead? Do they tug at obstinate knots In assimiable longings and thwarted strivings? Are there agitiations, upheavals, or mutinies Against their percieved selves or fate? Are they free of strengths and weaknesses peculiar To horse, deer, bird, goat, snake, lamb, or lion? Are they ever neither animal nor human But creature and being? Do they have holy moments of understanding Deep in the seat of their entity? Do they experience their existence more fully Relieved of the burden of wakefullness? Do they suspect, with poets, that all that we see or seem Is just a dream within a dream? Or is it merely a small dying A little taste of nothingness that gathers in their mouths?