“They open their wings, flash patterns and color, fly from flower toflower. I, with the dark brittles and many feet of the former form, inchalong the ground.Sometimes all I want is two armfuls of air, a fistful of sky.”
“I died on a bitter cold night. Beneath a black sky and a bruised winter moon, I tried to fly, hoping my arms might act as wings.”
“Use the wings of the flying Universe, Dream with open eyes; See in darkness.”
“How many color patterns can your severed arm produce in one second?”
“Feet, what do I need them forIf I have wings to fly.”
“Why people wanted to dance whenever it got dark was beyond him. Somehow, the two seemed to go together, like bees and flowers, or flies and dung. Darkness and dancing.”