But Superstition, Like Belief, Must Die.

But Superstition, Like Belief, Must Die.

Joy Is For The Simple Or The Great To Feel, Neither Of Which We Are.

And The Case Of Butterflies So Rich It Looks As If All Summer Settled There And Died.

On Me Your Voice Falls As They Say Love Should, Like An Enormous Yes.

Only In Books The Flat And Final Happens, Only In Dreams We Meet And Interlock.