When I sleep,
I see a high road.
My form floats
from a dreams body,
following a sweet dizziness.
Past sheaths of yellow
and blue stars, I praise
whatever I pass.
Russian rhymes,
Muslim prayers and the
magic of the Tang poets.
And all dance before me.
Though I was a man,
I found it hard to die.
As if nothing would
happen to me.
And nothing did….