Opening our eyes each new day, we stare for a few minutes into space, seeing the first sights, hearing the first sounds. It is neither night nor day but something in-between. Fragments of dreams refusing to expire, the grip of the day not ...See moreOpening our eyes each new day, we stare for a few minutes into space, seeing the first sights, hearing the first sounds. It is neither night nor day but something in-between. Fragments of dreams refusing to expire, the grip of the day not yet upon us, memory and desire hovering around the edges... Written by
George Ungar
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