No wreaths please - especially no hothouse flowers. Some common memento is better, something he prized and is known by: his old clothes - a few books perhaps.
O Marvelous! What new configuration will come next? I am bewildered with multiplicity.
Houses - the dark side silhouetted on flashes of moonlight!
When I am alone I am happy.
It is not fair to be old, to put on a brown sweater.
Say it, no ideas but in things - nothing but the blank faces of the houses and cylindrical trees bent, forked by preconception and accident - split, furrowed, creased, mottled, stained - secret - into the body of the light!