I watch over a house of men

I watch over a house of men. These are not ordinary men. These are men whose dreams are forgotten on us all.

What do they dream about, these roosted men? Perhaps, through their faltered language they insist on quiet and pervasive dreams. Yet, their phonology and semantics fail me. For the life of me, for their life, I want to understand.

Perhaps, one remembers a picture of his mother as a child, “Big, Big woman –little, little girl. Where have you been?”
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When I’m asleep, I may dream of a girl with long brown hair. Do I sleep on it by mistake? What is her name? Will the name precede mine one day? And so forth. Sometimes, these are the things I dream of when asleep in the house of extraordinary men.