I Am Part Of What She Thinks

All Of Our Actions Have In Their Doing The Seed Of Their Undoing. ... That In Her Creation Of Her Children There Should Be The Unspeakable Promise Of Their Death, For By Their Birth She Had Created Mortal Beings.

Cold Sinks In, There To Stay. And People, They'll Leave You, Sure. There's No Return To What Was And No Way Back. There's Just Emptiness All Around, And You In It, Like Singing Up From The Bottom Of A Well, Like Nothing Else, Until You Harm Yourself, Until You Are A Mad Dog Biting Yourself For Sympathy. Because There Is No Relenting.

Now That I Knew Fear, I Also Knew It Was Not Permanent. As Powerful As It Was, Its Grip On Me Would Loosen. It Would Pass.

At Times The Whole Sky Was Ringed In Shooting Points And Puckers Of Light Gathering And Falling, Pulsing, Fading, Rhythmical As Breathing. All Of A Piece. As If The Sky Were A Pattern Of Nerves And Our Thought And Memories Traveled Across It. As If The Sky Were One Gigantic Memory For Us All.

I Think One Of The Most Fertile, Unexplored Areas For Poets And Fiction Writers Is The World Of Science. I Become Overwhelmed By The Science World.