Kubes Burning Daylight In the corner of the world, where the winds don¹t blow, Life begins there. From the river a thirst can be quenched. The winds don¹t blow but the voice is a breeze that cools the fever of a lost soul. Some say the river flows for a million miles only because they fear to swim in it. They fear to drown, but to drown within is to live eternally. The breeze strokes a name across the sky's cheek. Only the cold night interprets desire¹s heat, and the voice is the night. Crisp, baby blue night. Colorless dreams find courage when they flow, deaf songs carry miraculous choirs of prayer underwater, where they flow: "Life is there, under the river. The sun shines there, under the river. The Moon cries out of beauty¹s envy that has become the silent screams of love's lost lullaby. The silent screams give hope for the dying desert man, wandering on the wasted hopes of lost, cracked dreams, that are now drying in the dry sponge of a heart still blasted but alive in that corner of the bliss, not with false dreams, but with the breeze that calls a name, not his, but a name nonetheless. Hell go there without cease, hoping he falls." Life will be found there, in the river as it flows injecting the mountains, penetrating the valleys, spilling over on plants like pollen. Life will be found there, where everyone fears to drown. Life will be found there, enveloped in the cloud's tongue, and the story will be told when the sky's ardor pushes the stars to make love and cry.