It is not where I lead, it is where you follow, these paths seem to say. Not me talking, but the wind I bend in sympathy with, like that holly, like...
Uncalled for, after he’d gone, his boat made its rudderless journey home. Just big enough for him alone, a bobbing empty shell from which the kernel...
I am a gasp of wind which wants to beg admittance, having no ambition but to be inside, where she waits, her who can see what is not there and stares...