from THE DAYLIGHT SECTIONS (41)

if even a lean strip of elastic is inlaid into the expanse of summer, its shelf life is extended. lozenge after lozenge changes constitution of the body's headrest. I have learned repeatedly that I know nothing in this life expect the dowry of experience. and something hurts against my better judgment. all that I can do is tell you cinder after cinder as it learns that shine dissolves an image by distracting sensory indulgence. sliver of a mirror cell condemns darkness by allocating space for unexpected happiness. and pleasure in small stages stays contagious. in a little while the earthworm will have played a tunnel from a cluster of earth molecules toward another. what difference does it make that yellow birds might sing? who captures and who has capability of remaking every birth of sound? the captions that go with our skin induce perfume. when warm, recipients release the formality of obedience in favor of deliberate appearing shadows. now and at the hour.