How many years have slipped through our hands? At least as many as the constellations we still can identify. The quarter moon, like a light skiff, floats out of the mist-remnants Of last night’s hard rain. It, too, will slip through our fingers with no ripple, without us in it.
Charles WrightIt’s up there, and you can see the front of it. But what it is isn’t what you’re looking at. It’s behind what you’re looking at.
Charles Wright