In the moment I came upon a bridge, Across fast flowing depths. And on the wind I heard this call "alone you stand not on land nor air nor sea. hear my call come away with me along with those who have gone before. I will show you a net of jewels in the marvelous sea.

I am noble, known to rest in the quiet Keeping of many men, humble and high born. The plunderers' joy, hauled far from friends, Rides richly on me, shines signifying power, Whether I proclaim the grandeur of halls, The wealth of cities, or the glory of God. Now wise men love most my strange way Of offering wisdom to many without voice Though the children of earth eagerly seek To trace my trail, sometimes my tracks are dim. Riddle 91 the Exeter riddles

Passing. One. We are passing. Two. From sleep we are passing. Three. Into the wikeawades warld from sleep we are passing. Four. Come, hours, be ours! James Joyce - Finnegans Wake

Where does the summer go? To the glorious garden in the west Tended by the bees throughout the long winter Virile sons of daughters of virtue Making for us a ring Put your feet down with pollen, Put your head down with pollen. Then your feet are pollen. Your hands are pollen. Your body is pollen. Your mind is pollen. Your voice is pollen. The way is beautiful. Be still. A Navaho saying

I fled, down the nights and down the days; I fled, down the arches of the years; I fled down the labyrinthine ways Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears I hid and under running laughter.

Who was it then did I persue, that changed into a hare and fled? Then as a greyhound I turned him Until a sea trout he became - and I an otter darted Rising as a bird he had no rest as in the sky a hawk flew I Just as I was about to stoop A pile of winnowed wheat he spied and falling became a single grain. As a crested black hen I scratched and pecked Then found him out and swallowed him wholeThe chase now over who has won? For nine long months I bore him Seeing then his beautifull face I had no heart to harm him

They filled up a darksome pit With water to the brim, They heaved in John Barleycorn, There let him sink or swim. They laid him out upon the floor, To work him farther woe, And still, as signs of life appear'd, They toss'd him to and fro. They wasted, o'er a scorching flame, The marrow of his bones; But a Miller us'd him worst of all, For he crush'd him between two stones. And they hae taen his very heart's blood, And drank it round and round; And still the more and more they drank, Their joy did more abound. John Barleycorn - R. Burns

There are three invisible cities nearby: One is the new city to which you hope to return. One is the crumbling city that you have come from. The third city is yours alone, Its foundations were made the first time you entered the city, And its streets follow the path you will take when you leave, never to return. Every day it refashions itself about you. You awake between clean sheets. And everything in the city becomes more substantial.