(This is not a poem, but a description of a beautiful dream that I had once -- taken straight from my Journal) XI/XI/MMIX Last Night I dreamt that I was walking above the treetops of the tallest forest imaginable on a suspended trail made of finely cut wood, and this governing force from the sky that could have only been my mind told me that I was West of all things. There was no temperature, and on this trail I came to a cul de sac of houses that met with the ocean, and one of them was mine. The people who lived there were warm and alive and in love with each other, and though the tree tops were either below sea level, or the sea at level with the redwood canopy: It could only make sense as do most things in dreams. And when I woke this morning I was happy.
