I am with a friend. We have traveled to a strange land. The people resemble the "pineys" of the Pine Barrens (in New Jersey). They are very kind and friendly; they share food and drink with us. I am easily at home with them. They present me with many small gifts. I am perched up on a high ledge. An old college English teacher is to read one of David B's poems. He (David) asks that he may read it himself. It is written in a very simple hieroglyphic form. There are crows and hawks and their feet markings: [drawing]. As he reads I become emotionally aroused. Moments later I am openly weeping. I return to this land with my old platoon. Everything has changed. The land has been scorched; nothing remains from the joyous past. I begin to load my M-16 but it is with the new and unfamiliar banana clip. We are ambushed. I squeeze off a few rounds before scampering for cover. I lose sight of my platoon. They patrol without me, the only medic. A sense of great overwhelming guilt follows. We relink later. I am ashamed of myself, but I am glad to see that the others are all safe. The Lieutenant is somewhat stern with me. The shame passes.