I Went To The Top Of Vesuvius

Do You Come To Art To Be Comforted, Or Do You Come To Art To Be Re-skinned?

There Are Things That Can't Be Said, Because It's Hard To Have To Know Them.

Outside The Leaves On The Trees Constricted Slightly; They Were The Deep Done Green Of The Beginning Of Autumn. It Was A Sunday In September. There Would Only Be Four. The Clouds Were High And The Swallows Would Be Here For Another Month Or So Before They Left For The South Before They Returned Again Next Summer.

I Was At The Tail End Of The Family. The Next Brother Along Was Already Seven Years Older Than Me. I Remember Growing Up By Myself, Playing Games By Myself.

I Went To The Top Of Vesuvius And Looked In.