Joy Is For The Simple

All The Unhurried Day / Your Mind Lay Open Like A Drawer Of Knives.

Parting Is A Training Streamer,lingering Like Leaves In Autumn.

Boys Dream Of Native Girls Who Bring Breadfruit, Whatever They Are.

Only One Ship Is Seeking Us, A Black-sailed Unfamiliar, Towing At Her Backa Huge And Birdless Silence. In Her Wakeno Waters Breed Or Break.

It Is Fatal To Decide, Intellectually, What Good Poetry Is Because You Are Then In Honour Bound To Try To Write It, Instead Of The Poems That Only You Can Write.