Fairfield Inn, Room 220, Baton Rouge, Louisiana

I dreamed I had created the most resonant of praecisio poems, a poem that said everything that could be said about nothingness and was simultaneously unsettling and revitalizing, incandescent. Now that I am awake, I know nothing more of the outlines of the poem, so all I can do is accept what I believed in my restful sleep and remember that I am the creator of that poem and that, in some way, I am the creator of nothingness, the ultimate goal of any creator: to make something so overwhelming that it changes the core of reality. I am a creator, so I dream, sometimes in Schenectady, sometimes in Baton Rouge, sometimes in Englewood, sometimes in Chautauqua, moving, moving, ever searching for that one scrap of one of my creations to fit back into the hole my mind conjured in the hazy fabric of the universe.