There are some words that feel smooth coming up my throat and delicious on my tongue, but buoy is not one of them. It looks like it makes no sense and sounds like it should be said some other way, but it’s the meaning that’s most pleasant and runs so deep inside me like a thick raw honey that coats and soothes all nerves.
Sometimes her body does things she can’t understand. It leaps ahead of her thoughts and conscious feelings.
“From this I reach what I might call a philosophy; at any rate it is a constant idea of mine; that behind the cotton wool is hidden a pattern; that we — I mean all human beings — are connected with this; that the whole world is a work of art; that we are parts of the work of art. Hamlet or a Beethoven quartet…
let her be, let it pour,
let her twist and turn, let her soar,
let her fail, hell let her burn,
