it seize them like a broken string
stretched taught, and conditionally
a dream i had a year ago or so, that remains with me:
i am waking from a nap having been up before the sun to do things. i live in a small, tall house with light linen curtains blowing in a warm breeze. it is before noon and i am hungry. there is a dog asleep near my bed and also waking. injured dogs heal and wake from their naps on the other two floors. i open my eyes, simlutaneously breathe and rise face up, left leg steps off the bed and i head toward a bureau for something. the house is warm with a sense that food is made steadily. there is much sky and green through the windows. a slight valley and a wildflower grass field down from the house. a creek, woods and trees and no other houses in view. there are a few some ways away over the ridge. i know they are friendly since i leave the windows open when i sleep.
photo by Jovita Purqueras: me masked and a window, reflected in my paper pile piece from installation: DISTANCE at Cultural Arts Center (2020)