by the ocean felt
like winter anywhere else.
Last night I dreamed
of meeting an old friend. But, John (which
is his name) I said, you died. I cured
myself, he echoed through
a lopsiided grin.
worlds, we snatch jetsamed memories, while
really was separate from human society; it appeared un-
touched only to those who did not know, or did not want to to know,
how much whatever myth is in play
includes a journey "shrouded
in mist and cloud."
When I entered
the Place of Stories I heard: The birth you don't re-
member, is the death you won't forget.