Circus cannon

This one is probably along the lines of: If the tree falls in the forest, and no one is there to hear it...

If we perform a brave, possibly stupid act, and there is no clown to light the fuse, and no one around to see, does it matter?  If we haven*t flown across three rings in front of grandstands of people, and taken the bow at the end; and then:

if we go back to making breakfast and reading the paper (and writing the blog for the day), and on top of that, no one notices the red and white striped circus cannon parked in the driveway, except for us, does it count?   I think it does.  Somehow.  In the way of dreams.

Who knows the content of dreams

The night-time ones,

I mean?

Things happen or don*t happen

In the night.

Sometimes we think they are stray sparks

Between synapses

Sometimes things happen or don*t happen

Are rehearsed perhaps

At night.

They seem more than stray.

Last night we had a circus cannon delivered,

Red and white striped

The length of the barrel.

It was the cannon I used to plug my ears for.

The man in the helmet and sparkle suit

Climbed in,

A clown lit the fuse.

The man flew the length

Of the three rings,

Landed safe and sound,

Took off his helmet

And bowed.

Last night I looked at where the cannon was pointed,

Climbed in

Waited.

Waited

Bravely.

Nothing happened.

It seems there was no clown

Assigned.

So I climbed out again.

No one was looking.

I went and made breakfast.

No one was the wiser,

Except me.