Only I wake up like this
Apropos of nothing, I woke up this morning with a line of William Butler Yeats running through my head:
… Said that wild old wicked man
Who travels where God wills.
And I haven’t even thought of Yeats in a very long time, possibly a month. For me, that’s infrequent.
In dreams begins responsibility
I send my brain to rummaging around itself, trying to remember what it was I was dreaming about. No luck. Spend the morning carting my copy of the Collected Poems around in my backpack, trying to find a coffee-house with a working WiFi connection.
No luck. I head to the Apple store instead. Hey, it’s Boulder.
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white pebble 