The swan dream and others

Dream: we are renovating the house. Decide to pull up the carpet. At first I see a glossy yellow-pine floor under it. But later this is an illusion; it's all chipboard pulling away from the joists. Linoleum curling up at the edges. This is a mistake; we'll never sell the house now. As we take the carpet off the stairs the stairs fall apart. Suddenly you can see into the basement. It is full of water, dark. Things floating. James leaves and goes to the gym.

Dream: The neighbors are setting off Roman Candles in the back yard. I yank the screen door open. "I just put the infant to sleep!" Infant, I say, in the dream.

Dream: Everyone I know is on a Ferris wheel sort of thing, a big round construction of pipes and chairs. The thing is sitting on the ground. It is my job to pull on the rope to get it going, run with it till it takes off like a kite. This is hopeless. I go off and eat Indian food instead.

Dream: I have a long dream in which I am a telepathic crime fighting swan. I tell James this. "And then I turned the bad guy into a heap of cabbages."

"Oh," he says, "a magic crime-fighting swan. One of those."

"Not magic, telepathic."

"No, cause turning people into things is magic, whereas telepathy is science." He does not put finger quotes around science, but there's enough english on his English to spin us like tops.

"Not," I answer, "in swans." Out of the blue strikes the urge to kiss him silly. Sillier. Till he sings Thomas Dolby. Awake I can the length of wings pulling back my shoulders. The funny pressure in the mind.