It Takes So Many Years

Our Lives Are Mostly A Constant Evasion Of Ourselves, And Of Our Visible, Sensible World.

Not The Intense Moment Isolated, With No Before And After, But A Lifetime Burning In Every Moment.

What A Poem Means Is As Much What It Means To Others As What It Means To The Author; And Indeed, In The Course Of Time A Poet May Become Merely Reader In Respect To His Own Works, Forgetting His Original Meaning.

Hurry Up, Please, Its Time.

The Only Wisdom We Can Hope To Acquire Is The Wisdom Of Humility: Humility Is Endless. The Houses Are All Gone Under The Sea. The Dancers Are All Gone Under The Hill.