And I Walked, I Walked

I Teach My Sighs To Lengthen Into Songs.

You Must Believe A Poem Is A Holy Thing, A Good Poem, That Is.

I Am Overwhelmed By The Beautiful Disorder Of Poetry, The Eternal Virginity Of Words.

Too Much Reality Can Be A Dazzle, A Surfeit;too Close Immediacy An Exhaustion

In This Place Of Light: He Dares To Live Who Stops Being A Bird, Yet Beats His Wings Against The Immense Immeasurable Emptiness Of Things.