What One Seems To Want

Time To Plant Tears, Says The Almanac. The Grandmother Sings To The Marvelous Stove And The Child Draws Another Inscrutable House.

What Childishness Is It That While There's Breath Of Life In Our Bodies, We Are Determined To Rush To See The Sun The Other Way Around?

It Is What We Imagine Knowledge To Be: Dark, Salt, Clear, Moving, Utterly Free, Drawn From The Cold Hard Mouth Of The World, Derived From The Rocky Breasts Forever, Flowing And Drawn, And Since Our Knowledge Is Historical, Flowing, And Flown.

Lose Something Every Day. Accept The Fluster Of Lost Door Keys, The Hour Badly Spent. The Art Of Losing Isn't Hard To Master.

Think Of The Long Trip Home. Should We Have Stayed Home And Thought Of Here? Where Should We Be Today?