I love all things, not only the grand but the infinitely small: thimble, spurs, plates, flower vases.

I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

Tie your heart at night to mine, love, and both will defeat the darkness like twin drums beating in the forest against the heavy wall of wet leaves. Night crossing: black coal of dream that cuts the thread of earthly orbs with the punctuality of a headlong train that pulls cold stone and shadow endlessly. Love, because of it, tie me to a purer movement, to the grip on life that beats in your breast, with the wings of a submerged swan, So that our dream might reply to the sky's questioning stars with one key, one door closed to shadow.

Two things make a story. The net and the air that falls through the net.

The Ardent Hymn that Unites Peoples.

Green was the silence, wet was the light, the month of June trembled like a butterfly.

Pale blind diver, luckless slinger, lost discoverer, in you everything sank!