Landscape June 19, 2014 9:07:12 PM – 9:08:49 PM

Next to my one foot an open book was engaged in light conversation with the wind. In the night a distant voice had nearly fallen asleep. For every layer of meaning in the stones.

Suddenly one night, giraffes fell from your dreams. Who was it that wrote: This is what my dreams looked like at the time. The movement on the surface would make the words disappear. When I woke up, my dreams had always left a trap behind.