Real flight and dreams of flight go together. Both are part of the same movement. Not A before B, but all together.

A screaming comes across the sky.

Behind the hieroglyphic streets there would either be a transcendent meaning, or only the earth.

It takes, unhappily, no more than a desk and writing supplies to turn any room into a confessional.

She may know a little, may think of herself, face and body, as ‘pretty’…but he could never tell her all the rest, how many other living things, birds, nights smelling of grass and rain, sunlit moments of simple peace, also gather in what she is to him.

Let the peace of this day be here tomorrow when I wake up.

But a few choosing to venture deeper into the painful corridors of their affliction, found after a while that they could now grind and polish ever more exotic surfaces, hyperboloidial and even stranger, eventually including what we must term ‘imaginary’ shapes (which some preferred to term invisible).