Fairie

Some days are strange and halfway dreams
Or less than dreams, which unremembered
Still linger in the hidden seams
Of thought, though often half-dismembered.
These are the days that float about
Like bubbles, and like them will burst;
That conjure up a constant doubt
If they have happened, or, reversed,
A doubt that they were always so
And you and I just wandered there
Out of how life's supposed to go
Into the self-embracing air
Of a dream dimension, founded
On nothing but being ungrounded.