Because You Cannot See Him,

A Child Walked By, Rolling A Metal Hoop That Made A Sound Of Autumn.

A Poetess Who Had Died Young Of Cancer Had Said In One Of Her Poems That For Her, On Sleepless Nights, 'the Night Offers Toads And Black Dogs And Corpses Of The Drowned.

A Secret, If It's Kept, Can Be Sweet And Comforting, But Once It Leaks Out It Can Turn On You With A Vengeance.

Seeing The Moon, He Becomes The Moon, The Moon Seen By Him Becomes Him. He Sinks Into Nature, Becomes One With Nature. The Light Of The "clear Heart" Of The Priest, Seated In The Meditation Hall In The Darkness Before The Dawn, Becomes For The Dawn Moon Its Own Light.

Lunatics Have No Age. If We Were Crazy, You And I, We Might Be A Great Deal Younger.