You, Too, Can Be Carved Anew By

Whoever You Are, No Matter How Lonely, The World Offers Itself To Your Imagination.

It's Morning, And Again I Am That Lucky Person Who Is In It.

I Climb, I Backtrack. I Float. I Ramble My Way Home.

There Is Only One Question: / How To Love This World.

Language Is, In Other Words, Not Necessary, But Voluntary. If It Were Necessary, It Would Have Stayed Simple; It Would Not Agitate Our Hearts With Ever-present Loveliness And Ever-cresting Ambiguity; It Would Not Dream, On Its Long White Bones, Of Turning Into Song.