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: To the green field by the sea
- 2: Make me a wreck as I come back and spare me as I'm going
- 3: Did you see the closing window? Did you hear the slamming door?
- 4: Keeping time on the kingfisher's climb
- 5: Because brick-braided alleys make steep, sleeping valleys seem level and clear
- 6: Don't look round, but I think we're taking off
- 7: Sing the praise of Alexander, he's no use to me
- 8: The hedges and fields are clothed all around with several sorts of green
- 9: Chinatown, London Underground, you know it all sounds good to me
- 10: Take us roaming in the gloaming, your Ross rifle by your side
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