I dream of a city with honey walled buildings. A place where the autumn is a mood rather than a season. I dream of brown buildings, strong arms and trees with leaves that are a shape that is more than shape, rather a texture upon the dark sky. I don't know the name of such leaves, for all the leaves where I live are hearts, and these are not hearts, but are splayed more like oak, maybe they are oak or maybe not, I can't tell, but I look up and remember even as there are arms as stars around me, the way the light moves through them, the dense shadows and ridged contours of day. I dream of a pool where the lights reflect and it is the soul of a city dancing within, some kind of deep current though the waters be shallow. I can see across to where the city rises like a plume of smoke out of my imagining thoughts. I know there are other lights, but I can't see beyond the reflections and the coolness of the water laced through my fingers - waves that flatten as they move into the circles of lights. Beyond is a hum of cars, but it is a symphony much like 4'33', in which I am drawn in only to move outwards and be overwhelmed by the silence of a place that is never silent. Somewhere after there is the dark ocean, I don't know how I come to be there, how I come to be on the edge of the rolling abyss, while the light pushes me towards. I look into a darkness from this place of waked buoyancy. I see it and somehow can almost see what I am there with this city, a crown upon my head and wings of lights as I stretch my arms and wonder at whether I would fall, or fly into this place here that is what I know, but is also what I don't know.