At bedtime she is unsettled. A stagnant fear renders her rootless, and she slips almost unmoving, between things, awaiting release from her indecision.  She is unclear how to manage it, how to eliminate the connection and fold it away.  During premonition time she invokes a spell to sleep in a humble heap. Out she glides from all the lives she ever lives.  For a while she is unable to understand very much at all, yet it is resident within her.  She struggles to place the activity. Perhaps he is hidden away these past years, perhaps a figment of her painter’s mind. Something is happening, and she sees what it might always have been: a quiet sense of sureness and a silent determination to subdue the revelations.  She imagines its form, she wants to scroll through and feel what is hidden from view.