i awaken to the light patter of rain, and the passage of raindrops through the redwood and eucalyptus leaves outside sounds like distant embers whispering down to ash. or the sea. i leave my eyes closed, staying in the last images of a dream, and feel that i am in Mark's house by the ocean at Makaha. it's the sound of the sea at dusk, and he and i are sitting on the sand looking out at the peach blush far west, waiting for the light offshore breeze to die down and make the ocean's surface glass, wait for the next bluegreen set to arrive, to be ridden home on longboards, or just on our bodies, at the shorebreak.

...was dreaming of you, Evi and Trev. there was a one-room apartment in the Tenderloin, where a family of four live. Trev and I were visiting you, and he had a glass chair to give you for your home. you were telling me about your new school, and how your old computer with a slow net connection was still okay and you showed me how it worked. i saw that half the keys on the keyboard didn't have letters on them, and i awoke to the rain. woke to the sea at the edge of my hearing. or the sound of fire dying down to ash.

soon i am at the bus stop, waiting, looking down the road over to Jane's house, and beyond its roof the mist shrouds upwards, a blue rat's fine fur moving over an earth getting wet. my borrowed yellow umbrella must look vivid right now, all the better for Sheila, the regular bus driver to see me by. it is the first day of September, and things begin anew... a boy's sinews are to be healed today, bone is to be moved back in place, and hope is to be sewn back together like the thing with feathers.

3 p.m. ... dreaming again. or having a wakeful nap; mostly because of the quality of light streaming into my office--as if it's filtered through a gauze of morphine... which i'm wondering if more of has dripped into David today... as the surgery has been scheduled for Tuesday instead. there were two people with apparently worse fractures who had to be scheduled before him.

{ net.casting }
^