By daily dying, I have come to be.
How body from spirit slowly does unwind, until we are pure spirit at the end.
And I walked, I walked through the light air; I moved with the morning.
Pain wanders through my bones like a lost fire
A lively understandable spirit Once entertained you. It will come again. Be still. Wait.
Art is the means we have of undoing the damage of haste. It's what everything else isn't.