The sky is a deep purple-black,
With stars scattered about.
The street in front of my house
Is a river of shadow
With the streetlamps being fishing poles
Luring the glowing fish
To the surface;

The trees, which look like parrots this time of year,
Are ferns of darkness in the night,
Reaching out
To trap the the stars;

The houses look like slumbering beasts,
But the one across from mine
Has its glowing eyes open,
Hunting, ready to pounce;

A giant insect skims across the river, 
Its rounded legs churning up the water
And its wings making a hissing noise
As it speeds away;

The falling leaves are birds,
Outlined by the lights of the glowing fish,
Which they dive down to hunt,
Landing in the river
Only to be startled and flap wildly
When another insect speeds across the black water.

But the river is really a road,
The fishing rods are really lightposts,
The fish is really just light,
The ferns are really trees,
The beasts are really houses,
The insects are really cars,
And the birds are really leaves.

And the sun rises, revealing this,
But my only thought is;

What will I dream tomorrow?