past few nights monkeys play in the foyer, a series of white colonnaded steps leading in every direction. there is a menacing stranger oblivious to the monkeys, rapidly ascending the steps. the glass doors to the shape shifting houseboat at the edge of the field are locked. I pivot but my legs will not move. the monkeys are at play. the stranger is getting closer.
i wake knowing i need more training. an ability to get off the ground. to make the iconography of childhood present in dreams. i find a cape and begin training.
the flyer asks too much of the air. the lacuna of molecules between her and the surface of ground still too wide. more training will follow.