And I Said To Myself: That's True,

The Memory Of My Father Is Wrapped Up In White Paper, Like Sandwiches Taken For A Day Of Work. Just As A Magician Takes Towers And Rabbits Out Of His Hat, He Drew Love From His Small Body.

I Think The End Is Endless. It's Either A Big Black Hole Or A Big White Light Or Both Together. But It's Totally Meaningless, Because Even If Someone Would Explain It, I Wouldn't Understand It.

And As We Stray Further From Love, We Multiply The Words. Had We Remained Together We Could Have Become A Silence.

And I Said To Myself: That's True, Hope Needs To Be Like Barbed Wire To Keep Out Despair, Hope Must Be A Mine Field.

I Wanted To Be Calm, Like A Mound With All Its Cities Destroyed, And Tranquil, Like A Full Cemetery.