Seasonal Works with Letters on Fire

You Were in Sunlight Being Prepared

Y O U W E R E I N S U N L I G H T B E I N G P R E P A R E D Sat low our lord of literature for he was very tired; he’d had a fool’s time of it— Rattle-prr, the cricket crrrr, click-crick, under the deodar bad breeze fights frets, repeats itself like Theodor;—well, guess what. There is a season that does not go with the wind, fights frets & fidgets far—; you were in sunlight being prepared, beyond the bridge, the otter pups swam blind, at once—we’re tired of the human world. There is a music that does not go with the fire. Low grade depression . . . In the hills, dark gneiss in granite, old fire undressed. String out, fire spirits, underground . . . Owl swoops down across an oak still day, Ramalina menziesii, lichen hangs down. Can’t tell which to prefer: owl or mouse. Sat low, sat low twice—; there is a nature that does not go with the mind— F O R T M 4 9 ...