--LESS--
Amazing, how quickly we forget. Entering, The Voice is soft in my mind,
Coming up from a dream,immediately ~ com e to me ~ i am pulled down hall-
the ordinary world consumes.Immediately. ways, ever farther from the cold salt
When you are washed onto the shores, it is mist and more often there is the musk
the same. You of old wood--&
forget the sea; furniture long
you forget your dormant. At the
old life; all y windows the ap-
you want is a f proaching storm is flinging drop-lets
fire and a cooked &flash--CR--RACK--aa-RRruum--aa-ruum--
meal. Nothing an open window,rainsmell,and by it, a
cures just-tossed desk.A Clothbound Book,i discover, it
-out-of-the-sea is a journal.&
like hot soup& dated before
idle talk. The End. The
Hand is Flowery
Above the door is written : "if You don t ' h ,the letters delicate,as if they 1st
have any thing nice to Say , don t ' Say Any were song. & soin not-so-uffish thoughti sat, in the
Thing At All." A strange place, surely chair provided,&The Voice,aloud
,to find after so many dunes read to me: --MORE--