[audio:https://theotherjournal.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/sequence-1.mp3|titles=Sequence]

By craft I led the black otter onto land,
then calmed it with a drug and other sorcery.

Another raised the knife
and dressed the flesh.
Roasted, it was bitter
like a stone or a scroll,
and it could not nourish me.

In the next dream I tried swimming from myself
and reached only the end of the pool.