Give Me Bitter Years Of Sickness, Suffocation,

A Loss, But Who Still Mourns The Breath Of One Woman, Or Laments One Wife? Though My Heart Never Can Forget, How, For One Look, She Gave Up Her Life.

The Word Landed With A Stony Thud Onto My Still-beating Breast. Nevermind, I Was Prepared, I Will Manage With The Rest. I Have A Lot Of Work To Do Today; I Need To Slaughter Memory, Turn My Living Soul To Stone Then Teach Myself To Live Again. . . But How. The Hot Summer Rustles Like A Carnival Outside My Window; I Have Long Had This Premonition Of A Bright Day And A Deserted House.

Italy Is A Dream That Keeps Returning For The Rest Of Your Life.

Sunset In The Ethereal Waves: I Cannot Tell If The Day Is Ending, Or The World, Or If The Secret Of Secrets Is Inside Me Again.

This Land, Although Not My Native Land, Will Be Remembered Forever. And The Sea's Lightly Iced, Unsalty Water. The Sand On The Bottom Is Whiter Than Chalk, The Air Is Heady, Like Wine, And The Rosy Body Of The Pines Is Naked In The Sunset Hour. And The Sunset Itself On Such Waves Of Ether That I Just Can't Comprehend Whether It Is The End Of The Day, The End Of The World, Or The Mystery Of Mysteries In Me Again.