Thousand: Seven Hundred Ninety-Four

Maybe somebody will see the words, tracing on the air. Perhaps if it’s cold enough thoughts will burl up into clouds and if it gets a little colder they’ll precipitate out as rain or a little colder yet and they’ll sift softly down as snow. Each crystal unique. There’s my originality. Variations on a theme. We dissolve into the systems of the world, the stars, the universes without number, and the next thing is made from the last. We are all constructed of used parts. If we look totally new, as nothing yet seen on earth or in heaven, it’s