If today you are going to reproach I prepare myself, I will sit down to mourn for the lost, that faint murmur now scattered it is going to be propagated without further ado. And your silence that for me

Emptiness is a blessing: it can’t be owned if it doesn’t exist. My father said to bloom but never fruit— a small trickle eating its way through stone. I am one kind of alive: I see everything the water