ON THIS STREET I HAVE NOT YET NAMED At the end of the street is a dream hazy now But somehow I can touch it. Or is it touching me? And with what? Somehow I know it's there. That's enough On this street I have not yet named. How can I name this street? No book large enough for words, Not any you can hold with your hands. So I walk down this road. Feet meet ground hard, bringing an odd ache. I just head forward, head and shoulders sticking out, spiky things of thoughts. That's okay. Everything doesn't have to be smooth. JAL, 4-26-98