Spectacles are made of bread. They look like gingerbread. Or almond crust. They are dropped in water. They inflate or disintegrate. They make figure eights, flat and ornate. Spectacles are taken out of fresh water. They are pulverized but keep their shape. Mouth is a mouth, opens but no words. Mouth hungers for air. I wake from my dream. Spectacles are metal. They are glass and blue metal. Or tortoise-shell. I keep leaving them places I can’t find them. Spectacles make words bigger. January looks normal again. All of January, the bedroom, the garden, the kitchen. I start making breakfast.