i drove my brother to work this morning and then came back home and climbed into bed. i rubbed my feet together slowly and fell into dreams about tall buildings and glowing hallways, cold front steps and bed frames like picture frames, sleeping on our favorite images.

i woke up every hour or so, in the half light of my room, the finally cool air coming in and washing my skin like cool water over hot wrists.

i watched the shadow on my window come in and out of existence, a halucination, a voice from another room, trying to map the steps of the new girls who live upstairs.

my brother bought me lillies last week and they are still above my bed. i think they have been giving me good dreams, making my waking gentle.

i wake up sometimes with fallen petals on my face, and in my hair.

this morning when my brother woke me he smiled down at me as i brushed one away off my foot,

i had somehow turned around on my bed while i slept, probably trying to see the whole image i was sleeping on, a flower that turned into a mary, then a flower again and the words "the stars are above your head".

i have a photograph of an empty french hostile bedroom pinned above my bed, michael sent it to me years ago.

i used to look at that photo - his backpack on a chair - his cap on the small desk - grey light coming in from the city outside - and feel sadness, sad that he only had that alone.

maybe, too, i felt fear at being alone the way he was.

now, though, i just see the simple pleasure of a space all your own, knowing there is something completely beautiful waiting outside.