All That Matters Is That The Thing

This Morning Of The Small Snow I Count The Blessings, The Leak In The Faucet Which Makes Of The Sink Time, The Drop Of The Water On Water.

I'm Sorry, But I Was Born With A Towel On My Head.

Forgive Me If I Sleep Until I Wake Up.

And All Now Is War Where So Lately There Was Peace, And The Sweet Brotherhood, The Use Of Tilled Fields.

One Loves Only Form, And Form Only Comes Into Existence When The Thing Is Born.