Last night in my sleep
my departed mentor
spoke of his last book
that he didn’t finish
but started with the epigraph
from a Chinese sage
that to be human
is to constantly deny
reality.
I asked him then
what is the key,
for like that Borges
poem about limits,
there is no hope?
”No, not courage, my child"
he said,
"but imagination.
That is why,”
he added
“I appear in your dreams.”
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