an image diary

"And if he left off dreaming about you, where do you suppose you'd be? ... You'd be nowhere. Why, you're only a sort of thing in his dream! If that there King was to wake you'd go out -- bang! -- just like a candle!"

"Hush! You'll be waking him, I'm afraid, if you make so much noise."

"Well it's no use your talking about waking him when you're only one of the things in his dream. You know very well you're not real."

Thursday, June 23, 2005

Low tide hours in and the beach is filled with pools. For a week I ran the wet sand packed along the shore while the sun rose and the waves heaved and I was clumsy in my bare sore feet, my knees, my eyes in the light, the condos' rise, and my ankles swelled and the miles swelled and on the way back the sand was a changed thing.

"and what is the use of a book...without pictures or conversations?"

[contact me:]

what o'clock it is


live flowers