Next she was wrapping herself in herself.
Not crude at all the way she did it. Not a body of water, but the body of the water in the water. So that her place in there was water’s place and she couldn’t be bothered with herself. That was the way cold was.
Next she was trembling and learning. She wanted to show me something, but it wasn’t what she showed me. The child might be something that you should pick up and it might not. There was the question of whether it existed inside the water or not. There were doubts about evaporation and dew loss and there was more than that in it worlding. Here the burial’s never permanent, and there’s still another of this almost so she could have been falling.
Next the secret of lamplight. There are many ways that I am here, but right now I’m not one of them. My needs have been discounted. You can pick one up for the price of a word, though I’m afraid I don’t know which one.
It hasn’t always been this way. Perpendicular Derrivations of Latency can be arranged to accommodate conversations with states of being. I prefer to dress like a tree or the idea of a tree. I used to be dancing wetly. I used to be dancing like nervous pudding. She was the starlit vacancy signed the same as occupied space.
A lily is a blooming librarian, full of presence and the knowledge of where to find knowledge. Not even a rose holds still long enough. It wasn’t an experience I walked away from, loaded down with the responsibilities of accommodation.
In the pebble towns at the river’s reach, it’s expensive not to read the signs. It only takes a few seconds all day.
Beautiful and therefore wicked, they thought. Fame wouldn’t change that. When you’ve had more than you want given and you still forget to ask. When you arrive back at the beginning and the beginning’s already gone.