Have you ever seen anything in your life more wonderful than the way the sun, every evening, relaxed and easy, floats toward the horizon and into the clouds or the hills or the rumpled sea, and is gone- and how it slides again out of the blackness every morning, on the other side of the world, like a red flower streaming upward on its heavenly oils, say, on a morning in early summer, at it’s perfect imperial distance- and have you ever felt for anything such wild love do you think there is anywhere, in any language, a word billowing enough for the pleasure that fills you as the sun reaches out, as it warms you as you stand there, empty-handed- or have you too turned from this world- or have you too gone crazy for power, for things?
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