When as I occasionally do I dream of waterslides
they always rise high under an implied sun and
when I muster the courage to launch from the top
I shoot like falling down and out the chute and then
fly from the engineered end-lift up, out, over and
across and then finally into the expansive blue pool,
waist-high water in which stand intermittent people-forms
treading their own thoughts (my other thoughts)
which may but probably will not grant them a moment's grace
to notice my splash of arrival.

Then, done,
I can't climb back up,
so I wake up.