An abstract verse brings out the eyes, said the florist.

How one cradles a thunderstorm is philosophy. As is counting your lover’s footsteps on the untuned floor as the footsteps turn into motes in the afternoon light.

Every dream is a superstition that has a lot to say about you.

Do you hear, as well, the climbing notes in the setting sun? The bird-like departure of psychology into the horizon?

A psychology that has the structure of an invisible violin and an imaginary amulet. That with the changing of the seasons will find its way back to you.