I dreampt a perfect story in a 17 hour stretch. The only words I'll ever have are the ones I've known before.

Three times I woke and worked to remember it. Slept in the bath until the water got cold; my son's bed where she'd left a canopy of printed fabric & Christmas lights; and the firmer, nicer half of our bed untouched for five months. Less a story, rather perfect proportions moving. A lava lamp! For real :) All the shapes morphing, each intense color and shape shifting accompanied by the human virtues: death, joy, boredom, love ... flowing instead of blurring. Now I've forgotten. A Christian cartoon: three kids (white, yellow, brown) squeaking through the Stations of the Cross. "How does He do it???" He is Jesus. Terrific headache. "Emergency contact?" Now? My brother. Tears explode. Staff concerned. Cool it. Remember Mingus self-imprisoned in Bellevue - "Just needed rest." You pissed on that place. Fetal position (of course), she wheels me to the CAT scanner. Soft sobs. Finally laugh out a workable cliché "Nice driving." Her kind eyes. A projected loop of heaven blows across 16 panels. I loved the end, the separation. The sky went up or my bed went down. My problem with words: I often believe they mean something before living them as in "letting go."