Dreams and the like

I've had some horrific dreams these last several nights, though I struggle at remembering all of the pieces on waking. I only vaguely remember that each dream was discouraging (though not in the least bit frightening). I had one dream where I bought a house, but ended up living in the gazebo out back, because a canary wanted to live in the house; I had another dream where I was on a train, though I knew my destination didn't exist. The scenery outside the train grew more transparent by the moment, bleaching into white, though the inside of the train grew more spectacular in color, as though it were swallowing up the saturation of the external world and combusting in rainbows.
Whether or not the details themselves are terrible, each such dream arrived with a dreadful sense on waking.

for the she who was not anywhere
they can't see her there, autumn hair,
swinging through the city streets.
with hushes gath'ring round her feet.
how she sways, breathing sexuality,
they exclaim.
can't you see she's dancing, I say,
her joy paints everywhere -
they cannot.
their insipid stares are unaware,
reducing her to numbers, figures.
the heavens study the stars in her eyes,
as do I; polaris she seems to be.
but they see none of this.
women, they mutter,
delving back into drinks
woman, I breathe,
you're clever as the fox,
to the heart, the hound