Scripts

Ask me for the shape of things and I shall pick you up a pebble. Let the wind answer for me. This bit of hair, this dust of skin. After the communiqu├ęs, I shall take courage and be wrong.

Ask after the old and the new and I will find you some soil, my sandbox to play in, some knitting, there will be no albums. And I will tell you of the span of ten fingers, all dreams and air, and the desperate need for record-keeping.