What we wantis never simple. We move among the thingswe thought we wanted: a face, a room, an open bookand these things bear our names --now they want us. But what we want appearsin dreams, wearing disguises. We fall past, holding out our armsand in the morningour arms ache. We don't remember the dream, but the dream remembers us. It is there all dayas an animal is thereunder the table, as the stars are there.
Linda Pastan