within the quotidian and unquestionably profane act of driving this neighborhood haunts me and the radio speaks an unconscious expansion between an anonymous 18th century piano sonata which delicately <pre>illuminates</pre> (construes) the path [strewn] to "one-thought-viewing" amid the music of maples, catalpa, beech, and numerous pines and firs this moment's usual shortness is lengthened by the indeterminate play between sky, trees and music and knowing and being become one inexpressible a return to Wu Chi
