Wednesday, March 27, 2002

Create While Here Before and after we are the colors of night, And in between we cast light upon those we may never see. �I have a cello piece he did in 1959 for radio� �She painted as if her life depended on it.� �You hang on every word.� �I saw my life in his stone.� And all these are true- String slip, curving phrase, pushed brush. Users and owners here then gone. But catches in heart they make. Filled eyes, lovers sighs, easy mouths on bodies.

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