And the head falls on the breast and body falls on body without finding its goal, its final body. Some stones never give way, stones made of time, time made of stone, centuries that are columns, assemblies singing the hymns of stone, fountains of jade, obsidian gardens, towers of marble, high beauty armed against time. One day my hand brushed against all that constructed glory. Stones also lose their footing, stones too are images, and they fall and they scatter and mix and flow with the flowing river. The stones also are the river.
Man also flows, man also falls and is an image that vanishes.
The ultimate images overthrown, the black river drowns consciousness, night doubles over, the soul gives way, clusters of confounded hours fall, man falls like a star, the clusters of stars fall, like overripe fruit the world and its suns fall. All rights reserved.