every night since, might it be mine heart aching , visions of earth shaking combinations of words, the banks of my ability to store my emotions up behind the flesh and blood dam, perchance a ghost from some long dead wanna be poet, confiding the death secrets, I wish I could recall all the depth of what wakes me up, and scribe it down perfectly, before it drifts away, as my eyes clear and the tv and ordinary life intrude.