It's that feeling when you aren't quite asleep
but consciousness is altered so that the light
suggests a form. Moving toward her I had bumped
my knee on something in the dark, the eights
were sideways on the wrong clock. I felt her hip
under my hand like an instrument that is played
by spirit. It began to rain in through the top
of the window in the car and she was kissing
me under my clothes. Within celestial groupings
I define scripts, I'm singing the phonemes of dreams
in a broad blue ocean unnavigable by ship
nor map. The signs and the symbols of dreams
are graphemes on the dome around my sleeping.
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