The place I want to go to
is blustery and wild.
It is where no car
has driven before,
no man has walked
before. It is starry,
silvery as sleep,
dainty as dreaming,
gentle as a death.
And I’ll sleep until
I dream, and dream
until death, in a
pale, a corpse-like,
tender repose. And at
morning, I will rise
slowly, stamp my
old boots free of fallen
stars, and live again.