To A Poet, Silence Is An Acceptable

I Went To Collect The Few Personal Belongings Which...i Held To Be Invaluable: My Cat, My Resolve To Travel, And My Solitude.

As For An Authentic Villain, The Real Thing, The Absolute, The Artist, One Rarely Meets Him Even Once In A Lifetime. The Ordinary Bad Hat Is Always In Part A Decent Fellow.

It's So Curious: One Can Resist Tears And 'behave' Very Well In The Hardest Hours Of Grief. But Then Someone Makes You A Friendly Sign Behind A Window, Or One Notices That A Flower That Was In Bud Only Yesterday Has Suddenly Blossomed, Or A Letter Slips From A Drawer... And Everything Collapses.

I Am Indebted To The Cat For A Particular Kind Of Honorable Deceit, For A Greater Control Over Myself, For A Characteristic Aversion To Brutal Sounds, And For The Need To Keep Silent For Long Periods Of Time.

By An Image We Hold On To Our Lost Treasures, But It Is The Wrenching Loss That Forms The Image, Composes, Binds The Bouquet.