We live in a clash of cymbals then hear the noise and the opposing silence.  Another thing and another thing.  We see it is always so  Love and Loss; Love and rejection a double dose.  Surely there is shame and pride, beauty and ugliness, long summer days dreaming unafraid then head on toward fearful death so much left undone unsaid a total loss farm we bought then against the end one famous long ago our advocate in the stunning dream the rejected stone.  It is over.   One is born remembering nothing.  Blessed nothing.  It was better it seems than this rude place.  But now I know no other.Some day it shall be written,perhaps I will write about how lovely it was in the morning.