I Am Torn In Two

With This Pen I Take In Hand My Selves And With These Dead Disciples I Will Grapple. Though Rain Curses The Window Let The Poem Be Made.

Oh, Darling, Let Your Body In, Let It Tie You In, In Comfort.

Inside Many Of Us Is A Small Old Man Who Wants To Get Out.

I Am Younger Each Year At The First Snow. When I See It, Suddenly, In The Air, All Little And White And Moving; Then I Am In Love Again And Very Young And I Believe Everything.

The Stars Are Pears That No One Can Reach, Even For A Wedding. Perhaps For A Death.