I'm Not Afraid," Rafi Said. "why Not?"

He Could Say Nothing. He Had No Right To Be There, He Had Already Been Profoundly Changed, He Was No Good At Small Talk, She Was Half Naked, It Was Dawn And He Loved Her.

Rigel, Betelgeuse, And Orion. There Was No Finer Church, No Finer Choir, Than The Stars Speaking In Silence To The Many Consumptives Silently Condemned, A Legion Upon The Dark Rooftops. The Wind Came Down From The North Like A Runner In Lacrosse, Violent And Hard, To Batter Every Living Thing. They Were There, Each One Alone In Conversation With The Stars, Mining Ephemeral Love From Cold And Distant Light.

They're Not Just Dreams. Not Anymore, I Dream More Than I Wake Now, And, At Times, I Have Crossed Over. Can't You See? I've Been There.

There Is Justice In The World, Peter Lake, But It Cannot Be Had Without Mystery.

How The Holy And The Profane Mix In The Light Of Day And At The End Of Life Is Sometimes The Most Beautiful Thing In This World And A Compassionate Entry Into The Next. After Failure And Defeat, A Concentration Upon Certain Beauties, Though Forever Lost And Unretrievable, Can Lift The Wounded Past Roundedness And The Dying Past Dying, Protecting Them With An Image, Still And Bright, That Will Ride With Them On Their Long Ride, Never To Fade And Never To Retreat.