Phoenix

When I look through the stack of Polaroids  I have no memory of these images yet there I am. No pictures of my face only my body, in an amber light glow. I thought I had just woken from a deep sleep. I howl. It is a black hole of no memory.

He is walking around swingng a paint can that is spilling over with flames and everywhere the paint lands another fire is started. The whole warehouse and outside the windows of broken glass, the streets are burning, orange and glowing with heat and flame.

When I begin to write the dream, my book 's pages are filled with information detailing my flight to Phoenix.

Later the rainstorm arrives, I am in a warm candlelit bath. Beeswax candle, I see my reflection in the glass, healing waters in the amber glow.

Lightening, the sound of rain and thunder pound the earth.