In this world or in the next one, I am undefined. On this river through this forest, my soul is fed. On this train, on this passage, there are strangers. In their bags in their pockets, there are answers. Ask your question plainly phrased I'll understand. Send the message to the widow, undismayed. Seek asylum in the pictures on the wall. Your berth is ready for you down the hall. You are always welcome stranger to my dream. Enter without trepidation or esteem. You can surface if you wish it is no trap to keep you here. Your presence here is not required I only desired when we've retired to sleep, to dream, to persevere. Have you any of your own? Pleasant dreams that you can share? I will follow if you allow it. Different dreams are like fresh air.
Eric Talerico, January 2011
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