Do Tears Not Yet Spilled Wait In

I Am Made Of Earth, And My Song Made Of Words.

I Love You As Certain Dark Things Are To Be Loved, In Secret, Between The Shadow And The Soul.

We Must Dream Our Way.

I Love All Things, Not Because They Are Passionate Or Sweet-smelling But Because, I Don't Know, Because This Ocean Is Yours, And Mine: These Buttons And Wheels And Little Forgotten Treasures, Fans Upon Whose Feathers Love Has Scattered Its Blossoms, Glasses, Knives And Scissors -- All Bear The Trace Of Someone's Fingers On Their Handle Or Surface, The Trace Of A Distant Hand Lost In The Depths Of Forgetfulness.

What Does Autumn Go On Paying For With So Much Yellow Money?