it feels like a dream.
i dreamt there was a place where two rivers became one . . .
a town where red was the only rule . . .
where an ancient limestone abbey,
carved into the very cliffs,
ruled over everything . . .
it was called "brantome",
and we were there . . .
the local market was full of color,
full of life,
full of foie gras!
a group of "angels" had made their return to the ground,
one step at a time . . .
we wandered through arches, and lit candles for loved ones . . .
even though there were wrestlers at the gate,
there were still saints inside.
in the end,
the bridges were the only way to leave the dream,
the only way to find . . .
each other . . .
and the way home . . .
though i woke,
we would be back.