I am doing a lecture on poetry. I have a fat book of different poets and a mimeographed set of pages of the ones I'll read and talk about, only I keep getting confused and have to keep looking the poem up in the text to see if it's the right one. The audience is getting restless. I'm embarrassed I keep apologizing, "I don't know why I am having so much trouble." I realize I should have just had the proper pages separated and marked. Somehow I know I did that, but It's not working anyway. A woman in the audience plays a guitar to keep everyone entertained. I am grateful to her and think, "What good thinking. How nice of her. How fortunate for me she did that." Names of the poets are Fred Mann, Locke, Sharp. A woman poet writes about children. The older man who is paying me to do the lecture suggests we take a short break. I am relieved because that will give me time to get it together. He's annoyed at me. I leave the room to find the bathroom. As I'm walking down a sidewalk, Darryl/Tom walks up to me. I feel a sad/excited feeling wash over me. He asks if he can talk to me as we walk. I agree and keep walking. He seems shy and hesitant. I know he's going to apologize and try to get back together with me and I want him to because I've missed him, and I don't want him to because he hurt me badly and he probably hasn't changed. He stands very close to me and I feel like I can't breathe well from need of his love. I back away. He follows. We are standing by a grand piano. I walk so that he is now facing me with the piano between us. He says,"I love you. I want to get together again. Is there any chance?" I feel like crying. I want to melt into his arms and hug him and feel loved. I keep repeating in my head, "Don't do it. Don't believe him." I say, "You hurt me so bad. I loved you and you went away. I was so lonely, even when I was with you." He is contrite and waits. I now continue walking to find the bathroom. He follows, hoping. I am torn. Now the older man, semi-bald, comes up and walks with me. He says, "Will you take a picture of me?" He hands me his camera, a (see drawing) slim, 35 mm camera. I say, "Sure." "You are so kind to do this." He smiles. He's in focus, but someone walks by and I move the camera, and now it's out of focus. I fiddle with the focus lens and the man says, "My daughter was raped." I gasp, "How awful" "Yes," he says, "Did you get her professional help?" "No," he says. "I'm a counselor," I smile, apologetic to explain my intensity. "I have a bias that people are helped by counseling." The man thinks about it, but I know he's not convinced. Several people are standing around, wanting to walk by, but waiting for me to take the picture. I get it in focus. The man smiles big and I snap it. We walk back to the lecture room so I can resume my poetry lecture.