At the margins of the roads, three kinds of grass, bending with rain or with grain. Beauty bursts at the margins.

At the margins of memory, two kinds of loss, forgetting with relief or with grief. Space unfolds at the margins.

At the margins of lovemaking, one kind of touch, absorbing with both lips and finger tips. Life explodes at the margins.

At the margins of your presence, what kind of words are worth writing, With these hands or with this pen? Desire flames at the margins.