They say write what you know.

I do not remember my dreams
I know they are there,
as if through frosted glass,
yet I do not know their story
I have hints that there are
pools of red in seas and sierras
of gray, and of flying
I know there there are battles,
won and lost, with dragons and soldiers
and spaceships, and there is falling
When I wake, in the haze of
still-weary eyes and confusion
of this new day, a place still remains
where a guest sat and visited
yet I do not remember their name