__". . . while I'm asleep, I'm never afraid,
__And I have no hopes, no struggles, no glories.
__I see nothing. I remember nothing."
"Dream, Sancho, even in your waking hours,
So you might see when the world goes dark.
Imagine," Quixote said, "how the blind dream,
The phantasmagoria that flashes before their eyes
In the moments before they wake, before they die.
Take the shaggy branches of tall pines,
Those pitchy limbs, deep into your chest and lungs.
Feel beneath your feet tree roots fanning out
As they finger the paths of beetles and earthworms.
Hear the quail skirting mimosa and dragon trees.
As we drift across this dreamscape,
Imagine a woman,
Not as she scratches and pulls her way across the world,
A woman so worn she causes a woolish itch,
But as My Lady, as patient and complete as bread."