Something Needn't Be Large To

Something Needn't Be Large To Be Good.

All The Untidyactivity Continues, Awful But Cheerful.

Open The Book. (the Gilt Rubs Off The Edges Of The Pages And Pollinates The Fingertips.)

Topography Displays No Favorites; North's As Near As West. More Delicate Than The Historians' Are The Map-makers' Colors.

Close, Close All Night The Lovers Keep. They Turn Together In Their Sleep, Close As Two Pages In A Book That Read Each Other In The Dark. Each Knows All The Other Knows, Learned By Heart From Head To Toes.