I don't think they understand the wild delight, the contrast of color, flowers, good and evil, the inner glass skeleton of a body and the holy crucifix inside, how souls cling to one another, loving so much it hurts, hatred sinking your teeth in, my sky and your empty one, life and death, too pure for anyone, a mimic daughter that stings like a scorpion, a sister like a moth, umbrellas and canopies, light and dark clouds devouring a pasture before the valley, the poetic blue mountain range, horses running and how it sounds like thunder upon the evening red of the plains, some think it ends in fire and ice, an ill-tempered old dog, an invalid in a sick-room, the hue and gloom of a paralyzed grief and slow moving picture, rotten artwork and butchered organs, piano keys and lemon slices, an estate of wealth and beauty, an untouched room, a spider and her silver ball she spins, lake arcs of seaside docks and burnt, sun-kissed kayaks, a carnivorous catacomb of quiet solitude, red velvet cake, a widow among the ferrymen, the scent of wayward ribbons and a very small casket for my family twins, a wooden bowl of dissolving rain and deathbell, how she has been showing you something silent that you refuse to see.