The work of the eyes is done. Go now and do the heart-work on the images imprisoned within you.
Spring has returned. The Earth is like a child that knows poems.
There are quantities of human beings, but there are many more faces, for each person has several.
Thus we live, forever taking leave.
Shattered people are best represented by bits and pieces.
In the night, I wish to speak with the angel to find out if she recognizes my eyes, if she will ask me: do you see Eden? And I’ll reply: Eden burns.