All The Travelin I Ever Done Is

For If Jack Buggit Could Escape From The Pickle Jar, If A Bird With A Broken Neck Could Fly Away, What Else Might Be Possible? Water May Be Older Than Light, Diamonds Crack In Hot Goat's Blood, Mountaintops Give Off Cold Fire, Forests Appear In Mid-ocean, It May Happen That A Crab Is Caught With The Shadow Of A Hand On Its Back, And That The Wind Be Imprisoned In A Bit Of Knotted String. And It May Be That Love Sometimes Occurs Without Pain Or Misery.

No Wonder, He Thought, That The Panhandle People Were A Godly Lot, For They Lived In Sudden, Violent Atmospheres. Weather Kept Them Humble.

Their Silence Comfortable. Something Unfolding. But What? Not Love, Which Wrenched And Wounded. Not Love, Which Came Only Once.

And It May Be That Love Sometimes Occurs Without Pain Or Misery.

I Wish I Knew How To Quit You.