This morning the alarm, again How many snooze minutes wuzzit? I’m not good at math when Busy ignoring the dawning of my day. The cat pats my nose with her paw. The ultimate sign, not so hygienic Sleep extensions are officially over. I ask her as she rubs her gums on my person: Bathilde, do you dream of poetry? No, of course not, she’s a pragmatic puss – Her brain catalogues smells in odor emojis. But I, in course of the night, unlike the cat, Dreamt a sequence of poetry exchanges Between myself and Shlomit’s mother. Let me clue you in — As part of Before Feet In Bed preparation, I ate an orange, replacing energy lost at A ridiculously long rehearsal for a…