two drops on the wood of the sill, an hour before bed. leave the window ajar a thumb's width whether the night calls for it or not. read nothing with a story. write down one image, however small, that the day noticed. lie on the side you slept on as a child. the dream may not arrive that night, but the empty rooms get smaller.
ingredients
- one image written on a slip
- a window left a thumb open
- a phrase remembered from a film
- the small weight of an old book
- two slow breaths through the nose
dreamlessness is not a sickness; it is the cellar of the house. the drops light the stair, no more.
for its opposite, the drowsy daylight phial; see also the sleeper, the moon, and the midnight hour.