Night is within closed eyes like after we’ve cried, but not having cried. Many words and things, though happy walking alone and whistling sadly a melody of a girl. Night is as it is silence between notes of the song, of doubt and fear, and fear of other greater and the more tragic, to love them, deadening even in my appraisal, the lightness as I would laugh if I wanted them diluted infinitely in a great solution, as a night with stars like suns.
February 1972