Difficulties arose: events I could not fathom
seemed to conspire against all my good intentions.
. . . but in this dream of falling asleep I am awake, and I keep telling everyone I meet up with in Paris (yes, it is Paris and when I lived there in 1987, the labyrinthine ways of those empty streets as I walk alone back to my place past the closed cafés late at night, the watchdogs half-heartedly barking from within when I pass, and sometimes there is the lavender rain in the Marais during the day, sometimes the brighter-than-brightness of sunshine on such a fresh, even blanket of snow almost spilled from the alabaster dome of Sacré-Coeur), I keep telling everyone I know in Paris, it seems, that I keep having this dream.
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