Later, when those mysteriouswords would again possess you,desire and ideas from yesterdaycould cause familiar peopleto seem imaginary. The zodiacwas useless, hours were ancient,memory was just memory.You began with the thoughtto improve what you had made,but then maybe it would bebetter abandoned altogether,to try and make something new.So here you are, beginningagain what you'd once believedwas finished. Present pleasuresanchored in the past, you walkacross a familiar landscape and arrive at a new mountain,as if there were such a thing. Never sad, never powerless,you are a climber whose formof joy would go on and everupward to murmur strangeopinions into a thinning sky.