Dog Nights in the Canary Islands

Teeth sharp, ribs bare
they floated free 
in the barn cellar
I poked at one with a stick
and it turned into a heap of rags
When I reached for another
it flew  through a hole in the wall

Other greyish brownish dogs 
swam through the fetid air
Fat canaries pecked at my hair
at nearly empty trays of food and water
as I reached for the stairs
on this mystic night

Wanda M. Wandas's Questions:

1. Do the words reveal too much?

2. Do you have any sense of fear from reading this poem?

3. Can you tell that this was a real dream?