We do not truly speak except at a distance. There is no word not severed.

How could an argument soothe or settle a controversy when every word is a nest for a bird of doubt? (meaning of words as inferences)

My hands are full when you give me your hand.

The hand opens to the word, opens to distance.

Only what touches us closely preoccupies us. We prepare in solitude to face it. (The Little Book of Unsuspected Subversion)

In the morning, you tear up the pages of your fever, but every word naturally leads you back to its color, its night.

We do not truly speak except at a distance. There is no word not severed.