I measured the stanzas through my fingers like a rosary, recited their odd sounds in my head, painted endless unfinished series of images of the garden and the bed of herbs, the riverbank of shining mud, the pebbles in the stream bed lit like jewels, the banks crowded with young children in their purgatory white gowns. I followed the dreamer out of the garden down the bottom gate along the river, and woke back in the garden to start my journey over again.
