I Morning returns not because it has departed, nor because the world has earned another beginning, but because beginning itself is a thing forever remembering itself, each dawn carrying within it every dawn that has ever been imagined. The bird does not merely sing into the air; it seems to awaken an older silence, one that had already contained the promise of song before there were ears to receive it. The light arrives not as something new but as something eternally rediscov

In that hour when the world has forgotten the names it bestowed upon itself in daylight, when every roadside dwelling, every weather-stained refuge raised for the lost and those merely passing though, seems less a place than a pause between one loneliness and the next, I found myself inhabiting that peculiar blue illumination which neither belongs to heaven nor to earth but to memory itself, while the flickering apparatus in the corner exhausted its endless procession of borr

In the senior time, when the weather is high Then your knees both whine and your back mummifies When you’re ossified You got napping, you got napping on your mind Have a drink but don’t drive Anyone can see that you’re half blind. If the chair is plush, settle in with a grin. If the chair is hard, put the cushion back in. Lean against the wall, weigh a ton or a ton and twenty-five When the sun goes down Wear a sign that reads: Please Do Not Revive. We’re now grey people, we’r