It is just my imagination that flies,
While she is wrapped up in her bedsheets
like a nest.

Where is my oasis? Too far from
here for me to crawl with these
dead legs, refusing to co-operate
Hands and fingers clawing uselessly
through the grains of sand...

We awake at dawn.
To sink or swim.

Going down feels like one of those dreams [where you think] you're flying. Your heart's beating fast, you're accelerating around the corner, you swing, and then it's like you're Superman.

If you can remember dreams of flying and soaring like a bird, or dancing, or singing more perfectly than you ever thought possible, you know that no second -hand accounts of such events could ever give you the thrill you felt in the dream

I would create little flying machines and fly around the city in my dreams.