your little voice, spoke to me.
and insisted on writing quickly.
i was watching your long hair,
which tangles and weaves.
as the bearded man talked to me

this man who knows who he is,
and realizes how he will be,
and understands who his father was.
informs me to keep my eyes open,
because then the dreams i will have after i unbolt them
will be much more beautiful.
more beautiful then the ones i have already forgot,
upon my waking.

“my brothers, do not clean the dirt from under your fingernails,
not when flowers are growing out of them”
bearded man told me in a voice
that waved and shuddered,
like a line drawn with right hander’s, left.