Wasted space happened in our thought. I filed it away. Listening to no music while thinking of it. Want to keep your self. self. It’s the strangest thing when you leave. We walk in the smell. The leaves this time of year are rotting on the soles of our boots. We carve your remanence with a knife.
Make a thing. Put it there. Next to the stone. Have you ever seen such a a thing? The thing held all the knowing- Having been put next to the stone. Now the knowing wishes to be. Have you ever sat outside, on the deck, in the middle of the night, and listened to anything that was willing to be? And the knowing was the maker of the sounds?