'And at each turn, morning was more there'

 

'It’s midnight
And our silent house is listening
To the last sounds of people going home.
We lie beside our curtained window
Wondering
What makes them do it.'

 

 

'Oh what a thing to regret'

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'you, lifted into the sky like in stories; gone, the way we expect people to vanish into thin air in faked magic...'

'then found you on the edge, with all in view,
all in hand, tall as a mast of white pine
to which I had to lash myself or drown.'

'And what shall I do with the seed? The day said, the day said.
Bury it deep, see what it’s worth. See if it can stand the earth.'

'All rooms will hide you, if you stand just so.

All ghosts know this. That's really all they know.'

 

'Lastly, it has helped me more than I could measure, 

to separate life into two divisions, of things that is, 

and things that isn’t.'

 'But it is something, and it is somewhere and someone.
  And nothing and no one and nowhere. And it is done.'

'Somewhere deep down in the marrow of our bones. We’re very at home there, it was our native environment for hundreds and thousands of years. So even just to rest our eyes on it is to feel consoled and reunited. Like a blood transfusion, is how he puts it.'