Take a paper and write sleep on it. And then gently, never too careful, fold one morning close to its night and let the hours disappear inside. Wait until they close the door on you. [Here, observe care in not parting the day from its night.] Paint spine for door. A spine as observed under skin. For Sun, windows. A table for the Earth with edges. Here, we walk on the Sky, old sewn mattress with hard knots.
With light as little as that filtering through paper, discern a face lighted just that much. Spare the Zenith. A pair of hands and feet, general human attributes. The background of a waterfall. Begin dreaming. Do not open eyes unless you must begin anew. Consider what you recall – the places, the people and how you looked. There is no method in making tea. Consider that.
For as long as the hours last, disregard them. For tenderness, bring in a cat. You may eat what you cook. Draw shapes and let them take shape. Around you now, you may draw an ocean. An ocean, around you. Begin writing letters with just the name of the addressee. You have said what you always wanted to say.
Think of everything that you do not know and lose track. Come to things you think you know and restart. Place words on the edge of the aforementioned Earth and let them fall, one by one. Carry meaning to the center of all forgetting. Trust that the relationship between rain and flowers is untrue. That grass requires water to become coarse.
You may plant a tree. Only those that you know by the leaf. Nevermind the name. Be impatient about tender,loving,care.
Laugh. Touch with familiarity. Acquaint your skin with strangeness. There’s nothing new. Teach yourself to understand newly. Rest from laughing. Do not forget to see. Shut your eyes tight. Wipe any untoward fears. Replace them with the picture of a moon. Close-up shot. Open your eyes.
Begin dreaming.