Cool door, never changing your view that beauty is density. Your slanted window glitters more when dry leaves blow down around you, admitting more light into your chamber. Bless the dance that never breaks down, the detonation of finishing for awhile with the ongoing. Bless the tree of words that also loses something in winter and therefore admits more light. The chords break off on the carillon, but their delicate structures, their delicate music makes a marathon of our good days, an unbroken lustre. I etch a mountain shadow. It is my tribute, and I do studies of the rock.