Then I ignored spring. I struck out memory with an “X” but it came back. I tied down time with a rope but it came back. Then I put my head in a death bowl and my eyes shut up like clams. They did not come back. My hands were fastened down to oblivion. They did not come back. Next I took my ears, these two cold moons and drowned them in the Atlantic. They were not wearing a mask. They were not deceived by laughter. I waited with my bones on the cliff to see if they’d float in like slick but they did not come back. I could not see the spring. I could not hear the spring. I could not touch the spring. Once upon a time a young person died for no reason. I was the same.

She drank a glass of wine and looked for something new to ruin with her lack of talent.

You ache with it all; and the more mysterious it is, the more you ache.