As We Manipulate Everyday Words, We Forget

Yet What Is To Be Done With Events That Have No Place Of Their Own In Time; Events That Have Occurred Too Late, After The Whole Of Time Has Been Distributed, Divided, And Allotted; Events That Have Been Left In The Cold, Unregistered, Hanging In The Air, Homeless, And Errant?

The Days Hardened With Cold And Boredom Like Last Year's Loaves Of Bread. One Began To Cut Them With Blunt Knives Without Appetite, With A Lazy Indifference.

In Our Town There Was A Gestapo Officer Who Loved To Play Chess. After The Occupation Began, He Found Out That My Father Was The Chess Master Of The Region, And So He Had Him To His House Every Night.

An Event May Be Small And Insignificant In Its Origin , And Yet, When Drawn Close To One’s Eye, It May Open In Its Center An Infinite And Radiant Perspective Because A Higher Order Of Being Is Trying To Express Itself In It And Irradiates It Violently.

Now The Windows, Blinded By The Glare Of The Empty Square, Had Fallen Asleep. The Balconies Declared Their Emptiness To Heaven; The Open Doorways Smelt Of Coolness And Wine.