I am awake early for a rehearsal. I slept about five hours and managed one of those intensely plotted dreams of which I retain only a fragment like a movie trailer of a woman in a high-waisted white Empire gown running through a pre-dawn or dusk the same drowned blue as her eyes; she is stumbling down an empty road with clouds hanging over the fields and as she runs her face begins to stream like water or ectoplasm, coiling and thickening the air behind her. The funny thing is that it wasn't a nightmare, but I don't know what it was. I would have thought one thing if she was running toward the sea, but she wasn't.
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- 1: We're the ones who stand here now, but many others will again
- 2: Cormorant to rock, gulls from the storm
- 3: On the edge and off the avenue
- 4: Afghanistan banana stand
- 5: She was an excellent governess and a most respectable woman
- 6: The dark sleek heads are risen from the water
- 7: And the shrouds hum full of the gale of the grave and the keel goes out to the sea
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