Answer:
A man was driving his truck his lights were not on the moon was not out up ahead a woman was crossing the street how did he see her
Words come out of it, aligned in perfect silence. A messenger of black on white, a slinky fellow drawing lines, of thin and soft graphite
I am something that floats. But after a period of time I fall.
A white field, and when it is plowed, its soil is black.
Small and bearded, both in the real world and in stories.
I fly to any foreign parts assisted by my spreading wings. My body holds an hundred hearts Nay I will tell you stranger things when I am not in haste I ride and then I mend my pace anon.