Remembrance of things past is not necessarily the remembrance of things as they were. —Marcel Proust
dark light, care, not-sleep, and throw memories out the window
it’s just a night, only a darkness
false is not dark, dark is not false
but this might be paper waiting to rot in the rain
and no one knows anything. not the buddha. not the god. not the birds. not those dead and waiting and watching. no one knows. only the wind knows and it doesn’t talk.
from Collected Lines 2, a private unpublished document.