I am lonely, lonely. I was born to be lonely, I am best so! from “Danse Russe - William Carlos Williams

Hell, New Jersey, it said on the letter. Delivered without comment. So be it! Run from it, if you will. So be it. (Winds that enshroud us in their folds — or no wind). So be it. Pull at the doors, of a hot afternoon, doors that the wind holds, wrenches from our arms — and hands. So be it. The Library is sanctuary to our fears. So be it. So be it. — the wind that has tripped us, pressed upon us, prurient or upon the prurience of our fears — laughter fading. So be it.

As birds' wings beat the solid air without which none could fly so words freed by the imagination affirm reality by their flight.

Rot dead marigolds- an acre at a time! Gold are you?