love without shadows stirs now beginning to awaken as night

a blue pigeon it is, that circles the blue sky.

the stones have ears to eat the exact time.

dreams possess me and the dance of my thoughts.

sombre as fir-trees, liquid cats moved in the grass without a sound.

beware of the machinery of faces.

but only the dance is sure!  make it your own.  who can tell what is to come of it?

this is, therefore, the intensest rendezvous.

the elephant is in love with the millimeter.

the poets keep to themselves.  last night they walked the deck mumbling verse.

later, arthur stood on the beach in marseilles.  each minute seemed the size of a year.

i doubt it.  tell me more about them later.  doctor prinzhorn is here to take me in. 

maybe if i get close to them, something will rub off.

william carlos williams.  wallace stevens.  jean arp.

it is curious.  do they stick together?  who are they?

there are three poets aboard.  isn't that curious?

at a crepuscular light.  tonight i will gaze.  gaze with me.

the horizon.  between sea and sky.  i can look at that forever.

arthur, don't be silly.  look at me now.  this is how i feel about it all.

you manage to make it sound a little melancholy.

i'll find things, people.  that's what i do.  besides, we have all of the time in the world.

i'll roam.  float around.  talk to some people.  i think i am good at that.

you will have to spend your time creating havoc.  you can visit me.

they won't let you in.  i am staying here another month at least.

arthur, are you there?  i am coming to you.  i need to hold you.

and night later.  she will not sleep.

she will arrive in marseille a full day,

adele feels like she has made this trip before.

there was a note stuck in the side pocket that meant something... to somebody... sometime.

she found a satchel at a pawnshop.  the owner didn't want it anymore.

on a boat across the gulf of tunis through the mediterranean to the mainland.

adele will change faces on this trip, often within faces,

adele felt that she needed to touch arthur.  hold arthur.  she will leave tunis tomorrow.

well, it might.  

well i think it might.

does it matter?

frances feared that picasso said that about marcel, not harry james.

and wrong about dying.

harry james said that marcel was right about playing,

who believe in religion and art.

then you are just as alive and more than people

teeny told me he always says play.      play with life.

a breather.  and he says that he enjoys it tremendously.

marcel thinks that people are admirable.  he says that he is a respirateur.

he wants that epitaph.  marcel will die on this date, 1968.  arthur said that if this appeared, he would go.

didn't your friend marcel say,  besides, it's always other people who die?

adele, do you ever wonder if we will see our own deaths one day?

so i will go.  i'll pick my spots.  i'll take my hat off to whoever or whatever they are.

the doctor here told me that i must get closer.