Banality Is Sometimes Striking.

One Must Talk. That's How It Is. One Must.

The Words Emerge From Her Body Without Her Realizing It, As If She Were Being Visited By The Memory Of A Language Long Forsaken.

Their Voices Reach Out Into The Empty Yard, Plunge Deep Into The Hills, Go Right Through The Heart.

Banality Is Sometimes Striking.

Stormy Skies, Says Ernesto. He Grieved For Them. Summer Rain. Childhood.