Februrary 14, 1960

The image of the galaxies spreads-out like a cloud of sperm.

Expanding, said the observatory guide, and at such and such velocity.

It is like the idea of the flowers, opening within the idea of the
flowers.

I like to think of that, said the monk, arranging them with his
papery fingers.

Tiny were you, and squatted over a sky-colored bowl to make water.

What a big girl! cried we, tossing you in the general direction of
the stars.

Intently, then, in the dream, I folded up the great telescope on
Mount Horai.

In the form of this crane, it is small enough for the urn.