What have you been reading;wind dances or sun shadows?
Nothing, said she.
Why not? When will you?
Must I walk the rain's walk, must I drink the dew of
Yes, you must.
I know I need not, for it drinks me up, melting me,
This reading, this silent reading of nothingness.
This fullness, this white blank space
The books are always writing, 'You.' Read on.