There is no Space or Time
Only intensity,
And tame things
Have no immensity

Here is Menard's own intimate forest: 'Now I am traversed by bridle paths, under the seal of sun and shade...I live in great density...Shelter lures me. I slump down into the thick foliage...In the forest, I am my entire self. Everything is possible in my heart just as it is in the hiding places in ravines. Thickly wooded distance separates me from moral codes and cities.

LOVE of others is the appreciation of one's self.

MAY your egotism be so gigantic that you comprise mankind in your self-sympathy.

Baudelaire writes: In certain almost supernatural inner states, the depth of life is entirely revealed in the spectacle, however ordinary, that we have before our eyes, and which becomes the symbol of it." Here we have a passage that designates the phenomenological direction I myself pursue. The exterior spectacle helps intimate grandeur unfold.

I wanted to write some words you'd remember.

Words so alert they'd leap from the paper,
crawl up your shoulder, lie by your ears,
and purr themselves to you like baby kittens,
but it was rainy, so I laid there and daydreamed about you.

To see the Summer Sky/ Is Poetry, though never in a Book it lie --/ True Poems flee --