In the dreaming, there is a land of perpetual silence in eternal wait, forgotten what for.

In the dreaming, the moon flew across the sky in a few minutes, impatient to get back to sleep.

In the dreaming, clouds swirled as if the finger of God were mixing the sky, just before drinking it.

In the dreaming, if I ever tasted anything, I do not recall, imaginary food being made of wondering.

In the dreaming, there were warning signs that something approached, but no one listened.

In the dreaming, fire never burned me, a greater mystery there than is light, in this world.

In the dreaming, I saw all the way to the end, and saw a great blank, as if we were to fill that part in.