levava os vagares vindos do viver devagar. 
pegada aos olhos, a consistência dos figos secos e, nas mãos, a memória de gestos antigos - a lembrança de como a matéria se encarrega de dirigir as mãos na execução dos gestos - com que  se modulam as estrelas. 
permanente o humano compromisso entre as formas naturais e as formas ideais.
como se não bastasse sonhar os sonhos que se sonha, não quer saber de vivê-los.      


viver por interposta pessoa. pessoa em pessoa intraposta. transpessoal depois de transposta.


and the last from questions of travel

what childishness is it that while there's a breath of life
in our bodies, we are determined to rush
to see the sun the other way around?
The tiniest green hummingbird in the world?
To stare at some inexplicable old stonework,
inexplicable and impenetrable,
at any view,
instantly seen and always, always delightful?
But surely it would have been a pity
not to have seen the trees along this road,
really exaggerated in their beauty,
not to have seen them gesturing
like noble pantomimists, robed in pink.
. . .


more bishop i.e. more travel questions

Should we have stayed at home and thought of here?
Where should we be today?
Is it right to be watching strangers in a play
in this strangest of theaters?

Oh, must we dream our dreams
and have them, too?
And have we room
for one more folded sunset, still quite warm?