Ideally, I would spend two hours
per week inside with the dreaming rain.
There would be no outside. I am most at home
with faceless voices, an eyeless expanse of
soul, full, giving
alternately dew, mist, and torrential rain.
In my idea there is only a grayish light
which kisses sealed eyes.
In my id there is only
this, prefering nothingness
to anything but it.
In my I there is only this.