We Do Know That No One Gets

We Passed Over In A Sweep Of Sorrow That Would Persist Into Our Small Forever. We Just Keep Going.

Hunger Steals The Memory

All Of Our Actions Have In Their Doing The Seed Of Their Undoing. ... That In Her Creation Of Her Children There Should Be The Unspeakable Promise Of Their Death, For By Their Birth She Had Created Mortal Beings.

Add There Was That Moment When My Mother And Father Walked In The Door Disguised As Old People. I Thought The Miles In The Car Had Bent Them, Dulled Their Eyes, Even Grayed And Whitened Their Hair And Caused Their Hands And Voices To Tremble. At The Same Time, I Found, As I Rose Form The Chair, I'd Gotten Old Along With Them.

The Music Was More Than Music - At Least What We Are Used To Hearing. The Music Was Feeling Itself. The Sound Connected Instantly With Something Deep And Joyous.