He lived there in the wind, wandering awakened, surrounded by measureless oceans of time, clouds rising in exquisite spirals above shadowy pools sunk deep beneath the surface, obscure fishes flitting and flashing beneath. Under a glass dome of darkness and moonlight is one warm spark: a midnight dream, green flashes, a distant redhead’s grave gypsy eyes.

“Come, by flight or by morning light, we will walk together over the surf.”

And they did.

This entry is part of my journal, published January 1, 2014, in New York.