Images come to me from a deep place.
A broken story from far away.
A man is running down seven flights of stairs.
A dog is barking at a cow who has taken something.
A baby is finger-painting in her crib.
I have agreed to officiate at a funeral.
I can't remember the name of the deceased.
I slip out a back door and begin to run.
I keep trying to remember the name of the dead man.
Manny? Marvin? Victor? Torvald? No, that is from Ibsen.
I am trying not to laugh.
I join a marathon to blend in.
We pass a farm.
I hide in a haystack.
I see a patrol car with flashing lights.
They are prowling the farm searching for me.
The farmer sees me but he keeps working.
I am watching him work through the hay.
Now I remember the name of the deceased.
It is Torvald (after all) - a Norwegian farmer.
"He loved his work.
He loved his animals."
In the distance there is lightning or bombs.
Everyone has gone to shelters.
I wake thinking, "Nothing will be the same anymore.
I can relax."
