The River breathes out in its heavy summer sleep. The other shore is like a future, indistinct and inviting. I envision it as made of some other stuff than things over here.
Here will break your heart with its precise articulations. I am lost here, like a frog on dry land. I want to glide, to slide, to be wet.
Over there the trees are green luminous shadows; they remind of first love that ever renews itself. I would like to walk in and out among those trees.
Here you must either be tree or not. Never both.
If I paddled the opalescent water to the other shore it would initiate me on the passage, preparing me for a different f life. – Here is death and there is birth. Or is it the other way around?
The leaves over here are like insect wings sailing on the light