When I close my eyes the world does not go away. I hear it rustling and moving around me. But within a river of voices rises and floods the dark. I argue with people who are not there. I stand and offer my speeches. I am right and righteous. Thinking. Thinking. Thinking. And the river ebbs and I realize, it's not a river at all I am carried on, but a tide that I am sometimes lucky enough to float above and see. And from that place I can study the curls of water, the sometimes furious white crowns of thought that swell within it, the easy lulls that curve like glass, the wet sky that smells damp and ready to break with rain. I am here. All here.