Where do dreams come from? Do they sneak in through torn screens at night to light on the arm like mosquitos? Are they passed from mouth to ear like gossip or dirty jokes? Do they sprout from underground on damp mornings like toadstools that form fairy rings on dewtipped grasses? No, they slink out of books, they lurk in the stacks of libraries. Out of pages turned they rise like the scent of peonies and infect the brain with their promise.