A traitor commits his crime but once. The rest/is retribution.

Each of us suffers with envy/for the forgiven.

Without devotion any life becomes a stranger's story...told for the body to forget what it once loved.

Even If I Don’t See it Again Even if I don’t see it again.–nor ever feel it I know it is–and that if once it hailed me it ever does– and so it is myself I want to turn in that direction not as towards a place, but it was a tilting within myself, as one turns a mirror to flash the light to where it isn’t.–I was blinded like that–and swam in what shone at me only able to endure it by being no one and so specifically myself I thought I’d die from being loved like that.