Breathing? my breathing?—
hours passed as I turned the same question over and over
I filled the page higgledy-piggledy with circles little trees axons and figures
all whirling in my head.
Then I took to staring into blank space
(into the fabric of deep foliage before me)
and began to remember something from my dream
in which there weren’ t images—though that didn’ t matter—
but I perceived directly Substance:
a kind of meaning without language
and without images
a kind of secondary reordering prior to images
prior to the silent movie
a… proto-dream.

Then it seemed as if I were face to face with myself
and as sometimes happens when someone speaks to you—
but you don’ t hear for you’ re wrapped up with yourself inside
and you sense your thoughts are as free
as a butterfly flitting about you—
the same way a sort of dancing-me
face to face with a petrified-me
manifested itself.

As I spun this question round and round until I got quite dizzy
some thin voices awakened me from this cloud—
seven dwarf girls shrieking at the top of their lungs
under my window
without stop and without meaning:

tinca patinca pitula
krikrikray krakrakray
tinca patinca pitula
you’ ll forever stay this way