It is much easier now to start to write something and abandon it as quickly as possible. I run from the dreams, take on the shape of air and whistle past the Catalina Mountains like a blowing grocery bag. My thoughts have been elsewhere and almost as shapeless as the air in the above sentence. I've been sentenced by that sentencing. I write and then I shake the letters from the screen and look for sleeping doves inside my hard drive. I don't know if their said nest is one word or two. I am speaking of this double sided mirror reflecting the infinite infinitely.

The reservation mornings were too brief for me. I woke early to absorb the dawn and kept the sunlight in my wallet until it bled through the leather casing to sleep on the side of the road next to the fallen juniper tree. My aunt's sheep pebbled alongside the skirt of the mesa north of our house.

2007 has been my busiest year so far. I'm actually glad to not have to go to an airport for a while. I remember the Atlantic ocean on two occasions. I visited her at night. The waves singing their tongues against my bare feet. If I could have, I would have watched the sun rise and absorbed that also. But it was late, and we had other dreams to attend to. Thank you to those two poets who understood the importance of listening to the ocean's song.