Violet enters. The sun will rise in seven hours. She will take out the same dishes, silverware, the same glasses, and then wait for everyone who remains to wake up. I imagine the universe as a household which is always beginning again. A circle without a cause or an end, a circle that never gets tired, that has no apparent aim, unless the aim is to find bliss inside the circle. To find joy, and hope, and meaning in the details and facts that hour by hour define our lives. The names might be different but our fate is the same. To give what we have. The attempt is how we live.
He lived among us He was Europe’s child His ways were simple and his manner mild We looked beyond him And saw what we chose to see And now the truth about him stays a mystery One sad boy One lost soul One more story left untold One more name scratched on a stone One more baby left alone