The Real Mystery Is This

...imagine What You Are Writing About. See It And Live It. Do Not Think It Up Laboriously, As If You Were Working Out Mental Arithmetic. Just Look At It, Touch It, Smell It, Listen To It, Turn Yourself Into It. When You Do This, The Words Look After Themselves, Like Magic.

I Shall Also Take You Forth And Carve Our Names Together In A Yew Tree, Haloed With Stars.

Prose, Narratives, Etcetera, Can Carry Healing. Poetry Does It More Intensely.

There Is No Better Way To Know Us Than As Two Wolves, Come Separately To A Wood.

I Sit In The Top Of The Wood, My Eyes Closed. Inaction, No Falsifying Dream Between My Hooked Head And Hooked Feet: Or In Sleep Rehearse Perfect Kills And Eat.