Working backward in sleep, the last thing you numbed to is what wakes you. What if that image were Eros as words?
What would it be like if you contemplated my words and I felt you?
Animals, an owl, frog, open their eyes, and a mirror forms on the ground.
When insight comes in a dream, and events the next day illuminate it, this begins your streaming consciousness, synchronicity, asymptotic lines of the flights of concordances.
An owl opens its eyes in deep woods.
For the first time, I write and you don't know me.
Milkweed I touch floats.
~ Mei- Mei Berssenbrugge
