It Doubles Your Perception, To Write From

It's A Discovery Of A Story When I Write A Book, A Case Of Inching Ahead On Each Page And Discovering What's Beyond In The Darkness, Beyond Where You're Writing.

What Is Interesting And Important Happens Mostly In Secret, In Places Where There Is No Power.

So The Books For The Englishman, As He Listened Intently Or Not, Had Gaps Of Plot Like Sections Of A Road Washed Out By Storms, Missing Incidents As If Locusts Had Consumed A Section Of Tapestry, As If Plaster Loosened By The Bombing Had Fallen Away From A Mural At Night.

In The Desert The Most Loved Waters, Like A Lover's Name, Are Carried Blue In Your Hands, Enter Your Throat. One Swallows Absence.

She Had Always Wanted Words, She Loved Them; Grew Up On Them. Words Gave Her Clarity, Brought Reason, Shape.