156

going to take his seat,
it suddenly dawned on him
that, no matter where he sat,
he always seemed to be sitting
on the edge of the light.

.
.

155

mouth full of sand;
the shore lies within.

.
.

154

it appeared that one of the most common mistakes was in equating
perfection with happiness, for undoubtedly there was also no shortage
of what he had come to term "dark perfection."

.
.

153

having sacrificed the better part of himself,
he now suspected that only those offerings
that were proffered by no one,
to no one,
would be accepted.

.
.

152

overgrown,
his garden produced
but a single flower—
absence.

.
.

151

in what, for him, amounted to grace,
whenever it all went to hell in a handcart,
(as it almost always inevitably did)
he tended to find even the desolation
resplendent.

.
.