The Child Who Dwells Inside

Even If That Is So, There Will Remain A Word Wakened By Lips That Perish, A Tireless Messenger Who Runs And Runs Through Interstellar Fields, Through The Revolving Galaxies, And Calls Out, Protests, Screams.

I Imagine The Earth When I Am No More: Women's Dresses, Dewy Lilacs, A Song In The Valley. Yet The Books Will Be There On The Shelves, Well Born, Derived From People, But Also From Radiance, Heights.

What Has No Shadow Has No Strength To Live.

Human Material Seems To Have One Major Defect: It Does Not Like To Be Considered Merely As Human Material. It Finds It Hard To Endure The Feeling That It Must Resign Itself To Passive Acceptance Of Changes Introduced From Above.

When I Curse Fate, It's Not Me, But The Earth In Me.