All Are / Naked, None

The Sweet Air Coming Into Your House On A Fine Day, From Water Etched With Waves As Formal As The Scales On A Fish.

What Is Our Innocence, What Is Our Guilt? All Are Naked, None Is Safe.

Poetry ... ... A Place For The Genuine, Hands That Can Grasp, Eyes That Can Dilate, Hair That Can Rise

When One Cannot Appraise Out Of One's Own Experience, The Temptation To Blunder Is Minimized, But Even When One Can, Appraisal Seems Chiefly Useful As Appraisal Of The Appraiser.

We Don't Like Flowers That Do Not Wilt; They Must Die, And Nine She-camel Hairs Aid Memory.