The Stones Were Sharp, The

Pain Wanders Through My Bones Like A Lost Fire

The Soul Has Many Motions, Body One.

I Wish I Could Find An Event That Meant As Much As Simple Seeing.

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

And Soon A Branch, Part Of A Hidden Scene,the Leafy Mind, That Long Was Tightly Furled,will Turn Its Private Substance Into Green,and Young Shoots Spread Upon Our Inner World.