Right now the wind is carving my room into a lung, the warm moist air swarming in and around, through and out. It is allowing my mind to breathe in a similar way. I have been focused on distraction, so that in the days I can be as free as possible from the figure that has pervaded every dream this month. But being awake is more beautiful, even if my dream is not a part of it. I was able to swim last week. At night, soaked in lake and in moon and in contentment. I float there on my back, as the sky became the rounded hemisphere of a spiraling orb. The constellations battled the light of the moon, my hands persuaded the lake surface to flow over my nakedness and the water filled up my ears until the only sound in the world was the beating of my heart.