Writings from the Tower, from the Heart of the Earth ...
the sound of Railway Lines and Life around the Sea ...

while the unrequited Nõ love of the Rose is an illusive unknown mystery we might never understand.
It's like asking, what is Being? As soon as we get close to knowing or disclosure of Truth,
the Ground falls away beneath our feet and we are left with Nõthing but Roses

(the colour the smell the sound of Roses)

which/who do not question Why but only bloom for blooming.
It is we who are blessed to be alive and be in the presence of Roses and of questions Why.

A poet without a muse leads where but to a-muse? Still i may never know the Rose.
This way is better Being Forever than Nõt at all.
The Rose Blooms as i walk across the garden, as i move across the tracks,
towords the middle of meaning on Nõ bridge
where "origin always comes to meet us from the future". 35

Writing to a-muse the Rose i am earth bound, word bound and up words bound on Railway Lines ...
a place of meditation and reflection with the sun coming in on the pages, on the lines ...
at the station while the cherry blossoms are outside blooming reflected in the blue of the day
with the Rose reflected among the Trains of Thought and Sounds upon the Page.

With time slowing down like granular synthesis...i am like used by Being, by language, by love.
Like any poet i am drawn to the Rose, to Nõ thing amorphous, to the Nõ love of the Rose,
where silent echoes reverberate and resonate in the reflections.

I gave you all, but "which of us has to be thankful?
should not the giver be thankful that the receiver received," formed himself into a place.
"Oh my soul, I gave you all; I thank you for having received," for having become place.

(Irigaray, 55)

PRESENT . . . A simple chime, that served to time The rhythm of our rowing -

FUTURE . . . (From Through the Looking Glass and What Alice Found There )