Underlined: Woolgathering by Patti Smith

This little book by Patti Smith is a dream.

I dreamed of being a painter, but I let the image slide into a vat of pigment and pastry-foam while I bounded from temple to junkyard in pursuit of the word.  A solitary shepherdess gathering bits of wool plucked by the hand of the wind from the belly of a lamb.  A noun.  A nun. A red. O blue. Twittering threads caught in the thorns of an icy branch.  Running in place, a ghost in vague expanse, I opened my arms to the sovereign trees and submitted to their pure, unholy embrace.   Woolgathering p. 49