Sometimes I blink, here, and feel I wake-up, walking in the bright day, and wonder how I made it here - am I really here? I see it, I don't see it, I doze, I wake and can hardly believe it - I escaped my prison, my dungeon, with my body at least - now I wait for my sense and my spirit to catch-up, for my soul to split apart and the real me to look out and see the glancing sky and realise I truly am in this place, my new home, before my very eyes.next poem