There, slightly drunk, he took up

the pen where he left it after the last

fight over meaning ended with some

lines that would take some time to

find their tracks within the sounding out

of his heart and limbs. Now, the gray

sunset showed more than the barren branches.

The birds and I made it to the opening of the tree.

So much has returned, so much has come.

And the birds, and I, who had everthing, are one.