Sentencings

A thing too perfect to be remembered: stone beautiful only when wet. *     *     * Blinded by light or black cloth— so many ways not to see others suffer. *     *     * Too much longing: it separates us like scent from bread, rust from iron. *     *     * From very far or very close— the most resolute folds of the mountain are gentle. *     *     * As if putting arms into woolen coat sleeves, we listen to the murmuring dead. *     *     * Any point of a circle is its start: desire forgoing fulfillment to go on desiring. *     *     * In a room in which nothing has happened, sweet-scented tobacco. *     *     * The very old, hands curling into themselves, remember their parents. *     *     * Think assailable thoughts, or be lonely.