for dave monroe

[Keith McMullen]

"You set out to the left. (Usually in these dreams of home you prefer 
the landscape to the right-broad night-lawns, towered over by ancient 
walnut trees, a hill, a wooden fence, hollow-eyed horses in a field, a 
cemetery...Your task, in these dreams, is often to cross--under the 
trees, through the shadows--before something happens. Often you go into 
the fallow field just below the graveyard, full of autumn brambles and 
rabbits, where the gypsies live. Sometimes you fly. But you can never 
rise above a certain height. You may feel yourself being slowed, coming 
inexorably to a halt: not the keen terror of falling, only an 
interdiction, from which there is no appeal...." (GR, p. 137)