—Anne Sexton He made his escape under the cover of rain, I realized later. And before he invaded my apartment, he first practiced his escape by invading my dreams. The dreams were of soaring; above great forests, pastures, ancient villages and modem cities…above landscapes totally alien, as lovely as strange-colored seas or as hideous as bloody canyons torn in the flesh of a living planet. I saw through his eyes, experienced the freedom and the ecstasy of flight. But in one recurring dream, while he rested between flights in some secret place, the men in black robes appeared, and cursed him, made signs to bind him, converged upon him with daggers and chains and incantations. I would start awake, as if I were the one stabbed and bound, their evil faces still floating before my eyes in a dispersing vaporous residue. I attributed these dreams of flight and freedom to some deep subconscious yearning. As a young girl I had been struck by a car while riding my bike, my legs so crushed I was lucky to regain the ability to walk.
