It is all about the quiet, thickly woven around me and my thoughts

Her eyes, a mirror of her will and dreams , it draws you in

I have never seen the ruins of a cathedral yet, somewhere, it sings to me

As I watched a broken-hearted old man nurse a glass of whiskey, I thought to myself

It is another beautiful moon.

He looked up at me with drunken apathy

You know freedom or at least have experienced or imagined it. It is describable really.

I stirred awake

I live amongst the stars and draw breath each time a star dies

I don't think I would like it in the ground

I worry.