Now I Become Myself. It’s

Light Is Snow Sifted / To An Abstraction.

Deep Down There Was Understanding, Not Of The Facts Of Our Lives So Much As Of Our Essential Natures.

I Cannot Understand Why Poetry Is Not Taught At Schools As A Way Of Seeing, A Quick, Untiring Path To Essentials.

For After All We Make Our Faces As We Go Along.

Flowers And Plants Are Silent Presences. They Nourish Every Sense Except The Ear.