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BORROWED LINE #1\ francEyE The air is getting colder. Birds leave. Somewhere, birds arrive, but here they leave. Having eaten up whatever is left, they leave. Here they leave, but somewhere they arrive. After their long effort, there they arrive, rest, eat; eat, rest: arrive. Here I am birdless, but for the strange birds of the snow, who have managed the strange unbirdlike way of living: to me it is not so strange. BORROWED LINE #2 francEyE I let my oars fall into the water. Wherever the water takes me, I will go. There is no one to care, no one I care for. What will this be like? I think I will hate it even more than I hated that.

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