<< i leave the party at 3:00 AM, alone, thank g-d >>

a cricket sings an even song under the windowsill and everyone here sleeps.

every now and then the cricket stutters.

today, because i _looked, i learned that she spins fire now, and that she is planning burning man '09, and that she dances with a troupe that has hired a photographer, and that she quickly had to get over her dislike of posing for _pictures, pictures like the ones that _haunt me still.

my turf, this emptiness in me that is some nights like an empty room, not an empty field. i look, but not quite deep enough.

i wish i knew what to tell you, why you do not feel so loved. perhaps people want to love you but do not quite know how? you are rather extraordinary.

i have never dreamed of you. perhaps i will tonight. i dream these days of being chased, or of holding hands and cooking meals and touching someone's soul from underneath, of the little things i know. someday i will dream of things i cannot fathom, sunwarm prairie grasses and flocks of birds, the moonstruck cricket's chirps.