we wait. The world doesn’t end at sunset and only dreams limit themselves to things. Through a labyrinth of blank hours time leads us on as autumn falls over our house, our patio. Shrouded in a relentless fog we wait, we wait: nostalgia means to live without remembering the word we are made of.
To become one with music
You are in need of everything:
grey roads, deep glooms, birds that sing even in silence; the sky, an autumn leaf, hands empty, love unreturning, snow’s whiteness; dawn lights, you are in need of everything the dream requires, to become one with the music of the most faraway blues so that eventually your soul will have confidence in death.