It's linkage I'm talking about, and harmonies and structures, And all the various things that lock our wrists to the past.

Our dreams are luminous, a cast fire upon the world.
Morning arrives and that's it.
Sunlight darkens the earth.

There is only ever one first of anything, and this is it.

This is my third trip. And I still haven't been able to buy any gas.

It's linkage I'm talking about, and harmonies and structures, And all the various things that lock our wrists to the past.

What makes us leave what we love best?
What is it inside us that keeps erasing itself
When we need it most,
That sends us into uncertainty for its own sake
And holds us flush there
until we begin to love it
And have to begin again?
What is it within our own lives we decline to live
Whenever we find it,
making our days unendurable,
And nights almost visionless?
I still don't know yet, but I do it.