“There is something dense, united, settled in the depths,
repeating its number, its identical sign.
How it is noted that stones have touched time,
in their refined matter there is an odor of age,
of water brought by the sea, from salt and sleep.
I’m encircled by a single thing, a single movement:
a mineral weight, a honeyed light
cling to the sound of the word noche:
the tint of wheat, of ivory, of tears,
things of leather, of wood, of wool,
archaic, faded, uniform,
collect around me like walls.
I work quietly, wheeling over myself,
a crow over death, a crow in mourning.
I mediate, isolated in the spread of seasons,
centric, encircled by a silent geometry:
a partial temperature drifts down from the sky,
a distant empire of confused unities
reunites encircling me.”
Have you ever wanted a chocolate croissant so bad you could actually just die?
The ability to understand someone else’s heart seems inseparable from the desire to. Why am I not always this way? Sincere sentiments have such power to draw out my own sincerity.
“I love you to pieces, distraction, etc.”
….was many strips of bacon. Poor, poor Tiger.