If Blue Is Dream What Then Innocence?

The Mirror Is The Mother Dew, The Book Of Desiccated Twilights, Echo Become Flesh.

What You Wouldn't Have Suspected Lives & Trembles In The Air. Those Treasures Of The Day You Keep Just Out Of Reach. These Come & Go In Truckloads But No One Stops To See Them.

We're All Like The Little Sailor. From The Harbors We Hear The Strains Of Accordions And The Murky Soapy Noises Of The Docks, From The Mountains We Receive The Dish Of Silence That The Shepherds Eat, But We Don't Hear More Than Our Own Distances. And What Distances Without End And Without Doors And Without Mountains!

Love Is The Kiss In The Quiet Nest While The Leaves Are Trembling, Mirrored In The Water.

Just As The Light And Weightless Vegetation Of Saltpeter Floats Over The Old Walls Of Houses As Soon As The Owner Gets Careless, So The Literary Vocation Springs Up In You.