Just as Allen dreamed of Rockland and a long trip by sea to the door of his country house in the night of the West, I dream of arriving after a long journey to that rocky landscape where it no longer sounds but the hum of the wind . A bag of bones that wanders dragged like a living corpse and that seeks to rise and disappear, mixing with dust and stars. And so stop being something. And so be happily part of everything.

-I'm with you in Rockland

in my dreams you walk dripping from a trip by sea

on the highway that crosses America flooded in

tears to the door of my country house in the night

of the West-