I am nocturnal. I fell asleep as the sky fluoresced, slept through its incandescence, and rose awake at dusk. It snowed and rained off and on all through my sleep. I listen to the Moody Blues and remember their two rivets in my skull: riding Greyhound with Noam and his music to Ack!, with the moon to the right and Canada like a huge silvery landscape on every side; and the schwilly hooligan after dark on the merry-go-round Monroe Park, Eugene, asking four or so of us if we'd caught the Moody Blues.

A few days ago I wandered around Monroe Park at night and reinvented my middle. Someone wanted to give me a ride in north Eugene. Everyone was asleep when I got back.