Equality Is What Does Not

Your Slightest Look Easily Will Unclose Me, Though I Have Closed Myself As Fingers, You Open Petal By Petal Myself A Spring Opens Her First Rose.

You Have Played, (i Think) And Broke The Toys You Were Fondest Of, And Are A Little Tired Now; Tired Of Things That Break, And— Just Tired. So Am I.

I Spill My Bright Incalculable Soul

Writingis An Art; And Artistsare Human Beings. As A Human Being Stands, So A Human Being Is

Yours Is The Light By Which My Spirit's Born: - You Are My Sun, My Moon, And All My Stars.