ILLUSION:S : JUST A POEM

In so many ways. Movement is the key. When things unreal become real, it must be what you feel sometimes as you say here, and vice versa: "I move through my d reams Gliding to places unknown illusions of my singular reality Made singularly real." I love the picture you make of you moving through your dreams and then gliding to places unknown, that movement is suddenly lit up and becomes a path that goes all the way through your poem; and this continues in your dying every day and finding your way back again, a beautiful way of describing something so terribly frightening so singularly well. What a walk through the day made wonderful. Annuccia with love, Longobardolino mio.