February 3rd, 2003 - 12:38 p.m.

A furrowed folly.

Take my hand, and try to understand. Will lead you down, underground. Below the sparse grass, layered with wind rustled leaves, freshly brushed with hushed dew.

Into a hallow (o) beneath the swaying dusty emerald gown of a thousand year old willow. Oil lamp lit, and leaf lined. Knitting worry into willow root with flashing ebony needles. Sewn together with fallen hair.

We shall be perfect here, you and I. We shall be perfection, sealed for aye under the cylindrical dome of an upturned empty water glass. We will be flawless, faultless and fulfilled.

N.

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