The old copy was damaged by water.
Still, I savoured the words
and discovered your prayer of fellowship:
no water drenching party or flesh fancy.
Even the best of intentions are often awkward to carry;
a tear dropped on a festival day is no different from any other.
all the wonderlust is cased in dire dependencies.
The call to ruin, the call to reward.
Nothing means much for more than a moment.
Somehow, the thought of someone writing today,
makes me remember how I loved that damaged thing.
The water damaged never mared the words on the page.
