A HANDFUL OF dust could hide your signal when I did not know its meaning. Now that I am wiser I read it in all that hid it before. It is painted in petals of flowers; waves flash it from their foam; hills hold it high on their summits. I had my face turned from you, therefore I read the letters awry and knew not their meaning.
SHE LEFT ME her flower of smile taking my fruit of pain. She clapped her hands and said, she had won. The noon had eyes like the mad, red thirst raged in the sky. I opened the basket and found the flower dead.