Someone Loves Us All.

What Childishness Is It That While There's Breath Of Life In Our Bodies, We Are Determined To Rush To See The Sun The Other Way Around?

It Is Like What We Imagine Knowledge To Be: Dark, Salt, Clear, Moving, Utterly Free.

Ports Are Necessities, Like Postage Stamps Or Soap, But They Seldom Seem To Care What Impressions They Make.

The Armored Cars Of Dreams, Contrived To Let Us Do So Many A Dangerous Thing.

Heaven Is Not Like Flying Or Swimming, But Has Something To Do With Blackness And A Strong Glare.