I Can Dream, Can't . . . I

One of my friends, Kevin Kim, had a mild, but serious stroke a few days ago, and I guess I was worried because I dreamed about him. As I recounted the dream to him on his blog, the dreamland events went like this:

I dreamed about you last night. You were still in the hospital, but you seemed completely recovered, and - what's more - were dancing in the hallways with hundreds of people who were visiting you. Where did all these people come from? Apparently, your recent blog posts went viral, and millions of people are breathlessly awaiting each successive post! When some of those who seem to have taken upon themselves to set up a fund to pay for your bills discovered that I was a 'Friend of Kevin,' I was inundated with questions about you and your interests. I was flabbergasted, but I managed to find a few things to say. In a discussion of your literary interests, they discovered that I write poetry, I recited a couple of old ones ("San Francisco Morning" and "Water Witching"). There was some initial confusion as to who the poet was, but when the poems were clarified to be mine, a blog titled "Friend of Kevin" went online and had people pledging to support my poems, whatever that might mean. I checked my bank account first thing this morning and saw that the balance was no higher, so that support might not be financial.

Anyway, that's really what I dreamed (except that I haven't actually checked my account, for I'm not that big a fool).