
Times are bad. Children no longer obey their parents, and everyone is writing a book.
~ Marcus Tullius Cicero


Hear is not the right word. I became a telephone. Edith was the electrical conversation that went through me.
Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world’s great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters.
You will hear thunder and remember me,