There are more unremembered dreams 
Then I could possibly care to say

We spend half our lives in sleep
Dreams are the organizational tools of our sleeping minds
The scratch pad we use to make sense of the world 

Where fleeting glimpses of dreams remain
A lingering familiarity,
A half-formed dream
Picked up on some other night

They linger on the cusp of consciousness 
Teasing in the presence
Infuriating in their unremembered state
They are the cloak disappearing around the corner
The tide washing the sand smooth