When you have a dream in which you meet yourself coming in the door of your childhood home and you look at the you looking at you with a level gaze, of course it is unnerving. The you in this visitation places his hand on your shoulder before moving past you— or is it through you—then proceeding up the stairs toward a skylight in the attic you don't recall ever being there. If this is the shadow-self coming from that place in you of mystery and wildness and the unknkown, the message he bears is surprising— You have to stop. Who is the you watching his shadow walking away, caught once again in a swirl of obligations to the world? Perhaps you'll follow him up the stairs. Perhaps you'll lie back in bed, into the fog of simple sleep from which you can't retrieve or remember the dreams that visited in the night. ( a partially found poem; thanks to Drew Lopenzina)