I have this dream I have been following--like a castle in the mist it sits above me and around me. There are cliff tops and forests lining the rocks and I can see the water from here. I think maybe I should go--drive through that Canyon and up the River to where I really am at home. So marked it is now by adult existences, breakfast and layers, sunscreen and repellent. So little do I sit solitary in the woods at the base of a majestic Ponderosa Pine. I want to watch the Tamaracks turn and how is it that I let another season of yellowed needles go by without even paying witness. In the dream there is concrete too and faraway cities like Portland and others up North. I am afoot of something great but veiled and I am searching for meaning. Sometimes I realize in wonderment that I am likely too broke to fix, I travel down trailways that lead nowhere--like that time in the jungle in Costa Rica where I kneeled to the ground and spread my tears among the ants. There is the part wit the train and then dust and the ring and marching--the part of holograms and wild beasts al lrevolving--somehow in dreamland in the same space--interacting. It is then that i feel the loneliness--the utter ceaselessness of my own echo knowing, somehow the hollowness of my own heart.