‘ night, the beloved. night, when words fade and things come alive. when the destructive analysis of day is done, and all that is truly important becomes whole and sound again. when man reassembles his fragmentary self and grows with the calm of a tree. ‘ – Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
- who am i
- where have i been
- what am i doing here
- where am i going
night spells polysyllabic words to the tempo of quick flowing blood rivers: supernatural, appurtenances… by the river i sat.