August 17, 2005

Dear Bob Dylan,

Pessoa says we never truly realize ourselves.  We are like two chasms – a well staring up at the sky.

Arthur Rimbaud says it’s as simple as a musical phrase.

Rainer Rilke says music:  the breathing of statues.  Perhaps:  the silence of paintings.  Language where language ends.  Time that stands head-up in the direction of hearts that wear out.

I can’t say anything.  I can not speak, my tongue is broken.  Sappho said that.

All my love,