When Man Becomes Greater Than

[on Common Water.] Its Substance Reaches Everywhere; It Touches The Past And Prepares The Future; It Moves Under The Poles And Wanders Thinly In The Heights Of Air. It Can Assume Forms Of Exquisite Perfection In A Snowflake, Or Strip The Living To A Single Shining Bone Cast Up By The Sea.

Life, Unlike The Inanimate, Will Take The Long Way Round To Circumvent Barrenness. A Kind Of Desperate Will Resides Even In A Root.

The Secret, If One May Paraphrase A Savage Vocabulary, Lies In The Egg Of Night.

We Cannot Pluck A Flower Witout Disturbing A Star.

What If I Am, In Some Way, Only A Sophisticated Fire That Has Acquired An Ability To Regulate Its Rate Of Combustion And To Hoard Its Fuel In Order To See And Walk?