terra There was a dream of falling slowly, like a broken bird; when I woke from it the morning was ash-fine and full of echoes. It was clear to me then, how we can be buried in the air or get vertigo just from standing still – and so for a long while I carried a falling dream within me, carefully concealed, through the green afternoon, even walking among those I love. So I have been; so I am – but that will not mean that we cannot hope, by walking such a way, to find some kind of comprehension, some small kind of congruence. |