(Poem #23 on new numbering scheme)
Hypnagogia The reek of butterflies and dust woke me from winter's complacent pessimism and showed with grave determination that true intentions are both made and found. Uninteresting. I put my arm out to touch the bookshelf behind my pillow and unindexed archives of better sleep unfolded into gold and copper flags. I counted seven breaths while I focused on disregarding things: body, pain, mind the myriad irrelevancies of being and that bit of twisted string, felt crouching in that spot on the shelf where I'd seen it; imagine it was another whole world.
[daily log: walking, 6.5km]