to describe myself would be an (arid) attempt at holding, with caging palms, the intangible efforts of unchosen existence. i experience the sensations of my being like the conscious mind, wide-eyed at the stars, as the river of the universe slips through time. all i can do is transcribe the journey from which i am encompassed. is something in a dream something that i can love? gingerly as a mother holds in delicacy the flower of her creation, i lay on this paper the words in which i pick and weave from the fabrics of my raft. i tie them in knots hoping to understand what i see when i sleep.