““2 Here is your inheritance: to be a person and go on blushing, applauding, saying “pardon me” without understanding how it started, or stopping to ask; believing somebody else knows; not wanting to be alone. Esoteric burlesque blossoming in mirrors, paraphernalia, rainbows, dolorous sombreros, days. The same presence everywhere. Look for it, it eludes you. Not wanting to be the only one with a small black coffin in your heart, a small black coffin the size of a thumb with nothing in it but wind. For now, take this black rock and go on polishing it. A golden cricket lives in it, listen; a tiny blue loom.””
