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.