I wake, slowly, out of a violent dream

In the moments of the slow waking,

I experience som scary, hallucinatory noises;

bangs and thuds,

that are clearly not heard with the ears,

but seem like repeated shadowy memories

of un-sounds

from an uncontrolled fraction of a second before

I think of the young, offensive brat

whom I brought down in the dream,

and whose jacket I cut to shreds with a scissors

before I let him off

with his friends, waiting at some distance

Before daybreak I limp down to the kitchen,

where Anna sits the Sunday through

at the kitchen table,

inspecting her students' preliminary physiotherapist

examinations,

mailed to her in fat envelopes

from LTU; The Luleå Technical University

I interrupt her work

while January darkness still rules the land

for another few hours,

to lie face down on the yoga mat,

having her tape my hurting left heel,

dry and pestered with cracks

I can't easily go back to sleep,

so I reach for Chögyam Trungpa, Vol. II

of his Collected Works,

always liberating and calming,

and after some spare thoughts

I feel like I can let this day rise in me,

like fluoride in swimming baths

or professional dictionaries in public libraries,

my body as insignificant to the room around me

as a turbojet high above the clouds

to the mysterious mycelium under the forest floor

in Saskatchewan