We Know A Thing By

What I Fear Most, I Think, Is The Death Of The Imagination.

I Smile, Now, Thinking: We All Like To Think We Are Important Enough To Need Psychiatrists

Winter Is For Women The Woman Still At Her Knitting, At The Cradle Of Spanish Walnut, Her Body A Bulb In The Cold And Too Dumb To Think.

O Heart, Such Disorganization!

Love, Love, I Have Hung Our Cave With Roses.