Open the book. (The gilt rubs off the edges of the pages and pollinates the fingertips.)

Close, close all night the lovers keep. They turn together in their sleep, Close as two pages in a book that read each other in the dark. Each knows all the other knows, learned by heart from head to toes.

Oh, must we dream our dreams and have them, too?

But he sleeps on the top of his mast with his eyes closed tight. The gull inquired into his dream, which was, "I must not fall. The spangled sea below wants me to fall. It is hard as diamonds; it wants to destroy us all.

I've never written the things I'd like to write that I've admired all my life. Maybe one never does.

All my life I have lived and behaved very much like the sandpiper - just running down the edges of different countries and continents, 'looking for something'.

What childishness is it that while there's breath of life in our bodies, we are determined to rush to see the sun the other way around?