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: I might fail math if you don't move your shoulder
- 2: My old body that you buried with the mud and the timber
- 3: With life and so much loss, time has weighted us
- 4: Out in space, coast to coast
- 5: Like a sprig of yarrow caught in the dark
- 6: The moon still rises on everybody else
- 7: To the green field by the sea
- 8: Eating cereal, remembering the sky
- 9: We'll tell you of a blossom and of buds on every tree
- 10: Am I lost inside my mind?
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