For What Can Be Imagined

As It Somehow Always Manages Before The Winter Solstice, But Never After, The Early Darkness Was Cheerful And Promising, Even For Those Who Had Nothing.

Words Were All He Knew; They Possessed And Overwhelmed Him, As If They Were A Thousand White Cats With Whom He Shared A One-room Apartment.

He Could Say Nothing. He Had No Right To Be There, He Had Already Been Profoundly Changed, He Was No Good At Small Talk, She Was Half Naked, It Was Dawn And He Loved Her.

If It Weren't For Music, I Would Think That Love Is Mortal.

A Good River Is Nature's Life Work In Song.