Awakened by someone else’s dreams,

vague, unlived memories.

Sepia toned or black and white tasting of

big band music,

the failing of an empire or falling off the earth.

A voice speaking of a tropical veranda

where tigers paced beneath louvered windows.

The not mine voice told

of the pom, pom, pom sound a pug, a trail along the porch.

Heavy breathed feline greatness panting in the humid jungle night…

-Sumatra?-

I, awake fully now in the humid corn steam wet of Iowa night and wonder,

where this memory palace is built,

whose rooms these are.

I walk the hall, wonder if it was something I read,

or saw in a film

or was it then another dimension, a time trip me?