I Lose And Find Myself

Art Is The Means We Have Of Undoing The Damage Of Haste. It's What Everything Else Isn't.

In Our Age, If A Boy Or Girl Is Untalented, The Odds Are In Favor Of Their Thinking They Want To Write.

Death Was Not. I Lived In A Simple Drowse:hands And Hair Moved Through A Dream Of Wakening Blossoms.rain Sweetened The Cave And The Dove Still Called;the Flowers Leaned On Themselves, The Flowers In Hollows;and Love, Love Sang Toward.

Who Rise From Flesh To Spirit Know The Fall: The Word Outleaps The World, And Light Is All.

Any Fool Can Take A Bad Line Out Of A Poem; It Takes A Real Pro To Throw Out A Good Line.