Being, Not Doing, Is My First Joy.

But When I Breath With The Birds, The Spirit Of Wrath Becomes The Spirit Of Blessings, And The Dead Begin From Their Dark To Sing In My Sleep.

A Mind Too Active Is No Mind At All.

I Learned Not To Fear Infinity, The Far Field, The Windy Cliffs Of Forever, The Dying Of Time In The White Light Of Tomorrow, The Wheel Turning Away From Itself, The Sprawl Of The Wave, The On-coming Water.

Too Much Reality Can Be A Dazzle, A Surfeit;too Close Immediacy An Exhaustion

May My Silences Become More Accurate.