The dark in the morning light. Something of the night carried over. Look back and tell me what you spy.
I have read Spy of the first person. Not sure that I always understand it. Sometimes I get it, sometimes I don't. Then it's clear, as clear and muddied as my own life. Sometimes. Which is why I like it, I suppose. Just don't ask. You know.
I remember..I think I remember something of the old time. It all makes perfect sense now. When words are struck out then there's a deeper connection between what remains. Like the dark in a house. That narrow cellar room with its sloping slated floor. It blocked out all the light but was also the dark nerve of the whole house. In that way connected. Through some old memory.
Well, what do you think when you think, she asked. I was thinking, when would you walk into my life.
And now that I'm here?
There were no more words in his words. He looked at himself/me from a distance. Try and trace the words you wrote in the dark, see what carries over into the day. Look for the word that was found in nobody's heart. Yeah, there was another beginning...
The summer heat drowned the day out, blotched the hours. And then night fell and a cool breeze from another land entered the city gates. So many flowers and leaves lay sprinkled at your feet when you woke up...
I have read Spy of the first person. Not sure that I always understand it. Sometimes I get it, sometimes I don't. Then it's clear, as clear and muddied as my own life. Sometimes. Which is why I like it, I suppose. Just don't ask. You know.
I remember..I think I remember something of the old time. It all makes perfect sense now. When words are struck out then there's a deeper connection between what remains. Like the dark in a house. That narrow cellar room with its sloping slated floor. It blocked out all the light but was also the dark nerve of the whole house. In that way connected. Through some old memory.
Well, what do you think when you think, she asked. I was thinking, when would you walk into my life.
And now that I'm here?
There were no more words in his words. He looked at himself/me from a distance. Try and trace the words you wrote in the dark, see what carries over into the day. Look for the word that was found in nobody's heart. Yeah, there was another beginning...
The summer heat drowned the day out, blotched the hours. And then night fell and a cool breeze from another land entered the city gates. So many flowers and leaves lay sprinkled at your feet when you woke up...
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