But the sea which no one tends is also a garden

Dissonance / (if you are interested) / leads to discovery.

THESE are the desolate, dark weeks when nature in its barrenness equals the stupidity of man. The year plunges into night and the heart plunges lower than night.

Your thighs are appletrees whose blossoms touch the sky. Your knees are a southern breeze.

We sit and talk quietly, with long lapses of silence, and I am aware of the stream that has no language, coursing beneath the quiet heaven of your eyes, which has no speech.

My surface is myself. Under which to witness, youth is buried. Roots? Everybody has roots.

O frost bitten blossoms, That are unfolding your wings From out the envious black branches. Bloom quickly and make much of the sunshine. The twigs conspire against you! Hear hem! They hold you from behind.