There was a dream within a dream and inside
the outer dream lay a rounded piece of white
marble of perfect circular dimension.
The dreamer called this marble that resembled
a grain of Grecian marble, “Eva Knachte,”
who was blown into the dream by the considerate
rage of night.

Her name evoking night became a marble pebble,
the land on which she rested was the shore
of the sea that washed over her and changed
her lineaments into classic marble, a miniature
being, yet perfect in this dream, her size
determined by the summer storm with which
I struggled and seized the marble.

from The Screen of Distance

You left some seeds on my touchpad, thanks. Oh, one just fell under the F2 key. I wish a cabbage or whatever it is would grow beneath my keys, popping them all off by pressing from underneath, like the keys are squares of concrete sidewalk and this is a disreputable neighborhood we’re in called Touchpad.