stone beautiful only when wet.
so many ways
not to see others suffer.
it separates us
like scent from bread,
rust from iron.
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.
Think assailable thoughts, or be lonely.