my way is in the sand flowing
between the shingle and the dune
the summer rain rains on my life
on me my life harrying fleeing
to its beginning to its end
my peace is there in the receding mist
when I may cease from treading these long shifting thresholds
and live the space of a door
that opens and shuts
Il Dottor Beckett
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Thoughts, like fleas, jump from man to man, but they don't bite everybody.
Stanislaw J. Lec