Most of a Dream Grandpa had...

I agree, but rather than thinking like you I will remain silent to avoid any further confusion. We looked up and down in the crowdes square (the second floor which was an endless sky) without a word from either, looking always for an excuse to leave. She unclapsed her hand quickly -- long, sleak, and leathered -- some bird pirched on a sight- no! What is that?

(She gave my other hand back.) From a giving hand came freedom. Such is freedom. How is it that one feels liberated when one is not freed, but unwanted? I cannot see these things which I do not believe, can I? What is freedom, anyway? Only a freedom - love, blindness, martyrdom - only defined by their opposites so much as by their sad appearances. I looked for her eyes, but the girl, and the square, was gone.

I was in a clouded mass in the blue sky (that second floor) and dark clouds formed at the moment of discovery. A shorter man turned into my sight, and reading his face against the backs of the mass I saw inside myself, and he turned away. No belonging, I fell.

I landed on both cheeks in a February Corn field. Sitting in the corn I saw a moonstruck cowboy in the sky painting a river on the highway. A car passed by...

Not soon enough I found us (as I know now that I was never alone) striking out at the 9:30 with an insulting mess of gauking marauders damning us before we had time to get away.

(Soon, or immediately, I woke. This is all I know.)