I dreamed that I flew-skittled along the edges of an inside-outside lake-city and I was climbing a long ramp of some kind when I lost it. I mean, I thought I knew it or had it so clearly in my head. But, no, not anymore.

The thing of it is that it was there, clear, more substantial than real, like the vivid darkness of outer space. I was awake and actually held a shard of it, a whirring instant of something that, in my head, still made perfect sense.

But, no, it left me as I tried to frame it, build it into something else, an artifice.

Words didn’t belong. This phantom certain things did not want to be touched.

This place, here where you read and I write, and we find a beginning or end, the words kill it because it’s not that, no and shh-shh, uh-uh and z..