In my dream I trudge through the downtown queues of  J and R to pay for the equipment I had ordered. I see the back of Phil’s head in the distance. My legs feel thick. Later her son portions out dabs of meat warm lumpia.

Yesterday I turned 65. Among other things I made this drawing.

In my dream I improvise a parody wildlife documentary directly into the camera.

In my dream I pull the loose tooth from my mouth. It is narrow and brown, like a hunk of bark from my jaw. At last, I think.

In my dream we walk into the diner and she is seated on a white chair in the back. Windows hold out reflections.

In my dream a red flashlight spins into orbit, sliding under a briefcase. I go on the side door and touch a guy’s wig who is in the show, to be annoying.

In my dream I take my CPAP right off.

In my dream I am in the hotel’s maroon corridor.

In my dream it’s “change in and out of the gown” again and again.

In my dream, A and I meet again in the scrubbed snow, crying in relief that “We did it” even as we don’t really believe that.

In my dream five older people sit in the grass, naked, embracing.