the dream, the linen parted a while. visitors came, the day proceeded gently with stops and dictation, who is this? we worried over news, trembled a while, gathered back the warp, the weft. today we continue.
a meditation on thread, mediation of red, i dream of you. clearly your clothes remain the same, worn, washed, pressed. your ideas come different, you talk of immersion, and security,
nothing was further from my mind.
i saw the horse go down. cold wind they said as we entered the wood, saw the bird again. shivering, we saw the river run, then left, walked onto the lawn in the sun, trespassing. we watched
the bus burned.