From Its Wrapping

The dream has emerged from its wrapping of fog. Not all of it, but that does not matter. I recognized it immediately when only a piece of it appeared, as I was lying here in the dark, half asleep.

I relaxed and let more of it come.

A senseless dream, it would seem, and yet powerful enough to have colored all these past few days with its sadness.

It is almost impossible to put down, since nothing happens in it: I am left only with vague impressions of being solitary in the park of some vast city.

Solitary in the sense that although life is going on all around me, the cords that could connect me in any way with the life have been severed, so that I am as alone as if I were a spirit returned from the dead.