Clarice awakes,
but her dream abides.
Don’t be offended when she speaks pleasantries,
or not at all.
What you might hear is only a placeholder
for a short story of ten thousand pages.
She’s seen a distant horizon, but can’t get there.
Knows the true names of our colours,
and how to ask questions of God.
In the saga of her sleep,
charging. Unresponsive.
Aremyfeetofftheground 