I Am Not My Own Friend.time Cuts

Under Various Names, I Have Praised Only You, Rivers! You Are Milk And Honey And Love And Death And Dance. From A Spring In Hidden Grottoes, Seeping From Mossy Rocks, Where A Goddess Pours Live Water From A Pitcher, At Clear Streams In The Meadow, Where Rills Murmur Underground, Your Race And My Race Begin, And Amazement, And Quick Passage.

It's True That What Is Morbid Is Highly Valued Today, And So You May Think That I Am Only Joking Or That I've Devised Just One More Means Of Praising Art With The Help Of Irony.

The Voice Of Passion Is Better Than The Voice Of Reason. The Passionless Cannot Change History.

On The Day The World Ends A Bee Circles A Clover, A Fisherman Mends A Glimmering Net.

Language Is The Only Homeland.