the housemaids would return, down the stairs, their feet, they would go, all in a rush, and back again to open the double doors, while we clapped and clamoured on the table, and then we heard, all of us, the bells ringing, from the night mass, from across the square, as they entered, laughing while trying not to drop it, and oh what a sight

To the raven on his left shoulder, and the eagle on his right, I bow down.

torn, then flung asunder, the dog wailed and scurried, then regained, and attacked again, now made more vicious

To his mistress, who wears cats for clothes, I bow down.

by which all of that could be contained could be contained, again, and held, that scarcity, that thought, immense

To the son, who digs holes in his room, I bow down.

nothing will ever made me happier than a solid clear understanding

To the suitcase, made of leather, I bow down.

in the morning of the 24th, as we reached the bay near the promontory of St Albert’s, in that very fog, now clearing upon the coming wind, we decided to, if, of course, our commandant, would he ever bother to look, but then, raising his spyglass, upon the still water, he said, ah

To the stones rolling down the hill, I bow down.

business none of yours, apparently, but you still seem to believe that somehow it has become more than that, mere envy, I say chance, and let me tell you, now of all ages especially, that you have managed only to

To the one now gone, I take refuge. I bow down.

loving pain all we have seen, destined, to be seen, and now know, all that we all are predestined to know, if not well, at least stable enough, and we know, yes we all have heard it, so many times, but so what

To the door porter on his watch, I bow down.

a mouse was taken but the mouse grew into a wolf, but sooner said than done, all in a twinkle and a very sharp rap, the wolf grew into a strange, more brilliant, more beautiful creature. And feathers grew out of it, and noise, while the buzzer at the door ringing, again, hey, someone open the door

To the messenger that fails, I bow down.

the eye perfected under all forms of affection, the mouth made bothersome, shoulder lifted, armpit inspected, hair trimmed, hand shaped into a ready-made fist, reflex kicked, teeth buttressing the ceiling

To the starvation of the mouth, I bow down.

under all affect lies the way of that very singular thought, built upon a history of doing, by living a life of leisure, apart from both her family whom she did not trust at all, and all those who would interfere, she gained so much that could be squandered but she knew now, of all things, deciding instead to take leave of him and his silly dog

To the closing of both ears, I bow down.

rest dearly and show none of the fears of those who either come before or after, listen well, but also try not to fret, put your hands down, now, on your lap, like that, look at them, look at your palms, carefully, see there, there, there, there all are there are again, to be clearly seen, look

To the tears blasted by imagination and fear, I bow down.

but Fred knows, you know, Fred Astaire? The guy at church, every Sunday, the one who is tall and lanky, who smokes too much and coughs, too very little if you ask me, ha, the noise, the breed of whom I don’t really like or need to know, really, funny fellow

To the feet made of clay, I bow down.

the crystal glass rose to the ceiling, and it got smaller in the process, so all that it could possibly seem it was, we knew really then, we could barely see it, that which was said by all to be astounding for all that ever managed to apprehend it, the crystal glass rose to the ceiling

The moment before sleep, before closed eyes, I bow down.

no, certainly not, I couldn’t see how it possibly came to be seen that way, but in best, in the best possible way, in the very best possible, yes, I can see that, that way it could only be, only you, you don’t really understand, of solvent, lead, straw and poison

To the horse tied by whisper to a chain made of silver, I bow down.

spirit leave me now begone, I spit on the grass to make it so, may you rot in your own very thoughts, may you drink upon your damnation, may the waste that you carry, that troubles us make no further progress, more than that we have nothing to say to you, curse you instead

The flower, may it be called the rose, of whatever meaning, I bow down.

here now no waste ok the mall ok the shopping list ok the cinema bumper cars all along let’s get freedom to choose let’s get it all every little wish and see it and every bump every love every disenchantment gone

To each point that the line crosses, and the line that the point joins, I bow down.

hey hold this, ok, wait watch this, this is this hilarious

To all the roads never seen by torchlight, I bow down.

oh just further, no, stop, there, a little bit further, there, bow now, dig a little hole in the dirt, maybe the size of your smaller thumb, make it curious

To final resurrection of all spirits, amen.

and this went on for years and years until about