Whatever Lives Is Granted Breath

The Night Whose Sable Breast Relieves The Stark, White Stars, Is No Less Lovely Being Dark

Not For Myself I Make This Prayer, But For This Race Of Mine That Stretches Forth From Shadowed Places Dark Hands For Bread And Wine.

Father, Son, And Holy Ghost, So I Make An Idle Boast; Jesus Of The Twice-turned Cheek Lamb Of God, Although I Speak With My Mouth Thus, In My Heart Do I Play A Double Part.

I Was Reared In The Conservative Atmosphere Of A Methodist Parsonage.

Africa? A Book One Thumbs Listlessly, Till Slumber Comes.