““The early bats are tying the air, the heart, into knots. They fly on the wings of grief. The late butterfly follows them over the edge of the cliff where the earth becomes the air we turn into. It’s called mirror vision when we see what isn’t here. The kind of faith that fails at unexpected moments the way a climber reaches for a hold that will never in his life, be there. It’s called despair when we open the door of a heart that no longer exists.””