intruder tender_square i was in a house on the waterfront standing in the darkness in front of a big-picture window. it was nighttime and i was admiring the lights of detroit across the river, the way they sparkled on the moving waves. i wrapped my arms around myself, ready to retire for the evening. i walked to a white front door, a solid piece of wood without a window, to ensure that it was closed. it’s the same in every dream. i hold the knob in my hand and twist and the mechanism turns in my hands, unlocked. i push my weight against the wood but it refuses to latch, something unknown obstructs the close. and so i open the door wide, and there he is, a different man each time, hooded and wearing black, an intruder. he’s pushing his way in and i am desperate and alone and shouting “no! no! no!” until i force myself awake. 220628 what's it to you? who go blather from