the dream is of
a landscape littered
solely
with its own length
and its own breadth:
a space, crumpled
between substance and
concept like
a sheet gripped
in clutching hands.
turned this way and that
i am a snow globe of positions.
the things i do not allow myself
are only the things i need
if i cannot cajole this one
pathetic miracle--
the rough pleating
of substance
and concept--
into the length and breadth
of my hands.