I am standing here now, without you, beneath the locus of the world, that crack in the sky. When I return the things I am reminded of abound: fat, heavy, endless skies; sunlights; the sweet smell of bushweed and lemongrass...

How does one fall in love here?

Lukacs, in considering the great Romance poets, said they became exactly like the landscape they wrote in. Tell me, my love, what shall we do with all these landscapes within us?