spring dreams

The last few nights, the dreams have been so thick that waking up is like surfacing through seaweed—the tangles are everywhere, snaking through square footage and furring strips, snowdrops and spy movies. Part of it is about whether Dolores gets her apartment or not and whether I'll be around to help her put wood down over the concrete floor. Glue v. cement nails, quarter-round molding, telephone cables—these are the waking dreams. Part of it is, of course, impatience to get a move on building my own place. But spring comes late on the island, and the Department of Environmental Management hurries for no man. Even in New York, though the snowdrops are up in Central Park and the forsythia is greening, the snow is still deep on the cars and sidewalk edges. So for now I'll dream about other people's properties instead.