Wow...I have this eerie sense of impending distancing and dissolution. I can't be more exact-just a sense of things floating or falling away. Is this just an echo of my own inner uncertainties? Uncertainties that, even though I try to pin down, I can't give a name to? Or like some wild animals that can sense an imminent earthquake just before the earth shakes, do I have a read on something real and beyond me? Precipice. Precipice is the word that hangs on the tip of my tongue. Why does this notion of cliff-hanging over a sheer abyss envelop my mind like a fog? Just so…even so…or, perhaps, especially so…I hear a whisper of caution, and then move on. Sink deeper into my instincts and still move on.

Running alone in Dreamland last evening
I dreamt of the way the world could be:
What's more honest than simple moments of sunset
and dreams carried with the wind?
They thus came together for me.
And I heard a wolf whisper, though none could be seen:
“It’s the time of getting-strong.”