5 NOV 05
They're taking the boats out of the water. The sound of time passing the old notes. Rereading our old mail, "a place to be remembered." The characters are introduced.
It's dark. Did you sleep? Have I run out of luck? "It's dark. That always takes me back."
I dreamed I had a chalk eraser I could use to erase myself. I loved rubbing it all over me, then walking around--just some smeared chalk dust that nobody noticed.
I've been thinking of Thoreau. And feeling the desire to walk for hours a day, as we used to. The song begins (such a tiredness, another song). But, he said, the search for light must be a long one in most people's lives.
Poetry, the uses. Just as love is an enormous field. Many parts of it have to be imagined, by everyone.
. . . . .
