And One By One The

Everything Is So Alive, That I Can Be Alive. Without Moving I Can See It All. In Your Life I See Everything That Lives.

So I Love You Because I Know No Other Way Than This: Where I Does Not Exist, Nor You, So Close That Your Hand On My Chest Is My Hand, So Close That Your Eyes Close As I Fall Asleep.

Over Your Breasts Of Motionless Current, Over Your Legs Of Firmness And Water, Over The Permanence And The Pride Of Your Naked Hair I Want To Be, My Love, Now That The Tears Are Thrown Into The Raucous Baskets Where They Accumulate, I Want To Be, My Love, Alone With A Syllable Of Mangled Silver, Alone With A Tip Of Your Breast Of Snow.

But From Each Crime Are Born Bullets That Will One Day Seek Out In You Where The Heart Lies.

Two Things Make A Story. The Net And The Air That Falls Through The Net.