There are places where brick does not meet brick, where the walls have stood up as windows against the trees, and the low-ridged roofs fly out to small harvests of water flowers.
You must come clean of heart. Nowhere is beauty obliterated by excess. To sit in chairs like your own ribs, line stacked against line, breathe. The walls within collapse and move towards the moment between breaths in which nothing happens.
It is possible for a man to take with him the things of the world and know himself in them. He might bring his life to the horizon, into the longest line of repose, the act of least resistance.