standing in the middle of some vast, empty space—the kind of ocean or plain where you can see the edge of a dream in all directions
and it opens to you, and you let it in—womblike—everything around you is meaningful, whether it’s beautiful or horrible or sublime
it must be written above and left to fall as the wettest raindrop, tempting fate, and fate retaliated—again there was light, and again there was darkness, a new day