There Are Times When You Want To

... There Was An Honesty Inherent In Bulkiness If It Is Just The Right Amount.

It Was The Time Of Year, The Time Of Day, For A Small Insistent Sadness To Pass Into The Texture Of Things. Dusk, Silence, Iron Chill. Something Lonely In The Bone.

Mirrors And Images. Or Sex And Love. These Are Two Separate Systems That We Miserably Try To Link.

You Live In A Tower That Soars To Heaven And Goes Unpunished By God.

They Passed Out Of The Shade Beneath The Eaves And Flew Into Sunglare And Silence And It Was An Action She Only Partly Saw, Elusive And Mutely Beautiful, The Birds So Sunstruck They Were Consumed By Light, Disembodied, Turned Into Something Sheer And Fleet And Scatter-bright.