A few kind words can go a long way. Each time someone is kind to me, I feel like breaking. The mirror silence of a still pool: ripples the weight of great lakes. Their glaciers staggered down. We measured the mountains. This small sadness I can hold in my hands, taste it on my tongue. Salt showers and the glow inside bones -- lit up, electric signs. The desert is the pain of home, the home away. This withholding -- it makes me long for it all the more. Sympathy is a craving. The stone around us turns to ice.