Perhaps a sentence that enters the body through the eye is taking the long road, not a shortcut. And while a page of text is a lovely thing to handle and see in perfect silence, once it begins to speak and sing inside me, I want to know how far it likes to walk.
Maybe words rest on the assumption that language comes out of the mouth. Yet a good sentence fits the entire human body: heart, hands and feet, ankle, knees and elbows as well as tongue. Words wander along the rooted edge of the tight-lipped, light-tipped grass as I forage for a story grown from seed on this quiet summer morning. It is very lonely living with them lost.