There is nothing here to do but wait. With the trowel at my feet I plant onions, sharply into the mask of dirt. In my mind, a fresh pack of cigarettes and matches; I left my lighter behind. I was dropped out of this dream. It will take three months for the sweets to grow, depending on the variables. You posted a new picture on Facebook, which means you are still alive. It is a beautiful picture of the pink and purple cloud formation I wish to call Undulatus Asperatus, but I am no cloud- expert, and they may not undulate enough. My body feels permanently strange, its own foreign language I've not yet learned. You work with vague intention, the weather. You are a water lily dream, the space between clouds where blue meets blue.