Sitting like every moment is the first one, The ineffable center of the spokes of time. The air that was of magic, that contained no chemical names- Clothed me in childlike nature, and spoke to me in riddles and games. The wonderful, glittery .. Cancer filled, jittery. What is this cycle of anonymous names, amongst what have I been born? Cubical jobs and mechanical rich snobs. Look: We contain something within us.. -Of it I could not speak- But climb to the wilderness mountain like the rest of them did.. Behold my brothers and sisters the divine mountain still speaks!