traces of slumbering afar together alone awake asleep

fellow dreamers in Athens I think of you tonight

Sleep here occurs in silence, broken only by the occasional cargo train that rumbles through, or the birds that punctuate the morning. It is rural, brown and dry here. During the day I do my flight training on back meadows where vultures circle. I jump, leap, bound,  and yet I have not flown.

bird

I have had dreams of long and passionate kisses in lecture halls, overstuffed elevators a mile high, trapeze rigs that collapse, small girls in glass containers translating Chinese, whiskey binges in swimming pools, warm buses and precipices on the barren edges of Iceland. I have woken in a sweat from a nightmare of nuns, I have found myself in places familiar and places with no traces of dreams to recall.  I again close my eyes and try to fly.

I listen to the sounds of your night in my day. And return them, too quiet to be heard in the Athenian night. When falling asleep, I think of all of you, slumbering together, breathing together, courageously, collectively trying to ascend.

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