Deep In Their Roots, All Flowers Keep

And What A Congress Of Stinks!- Roots Ripe As Old Bait, Pulpy Stems, Rank, Silo-rich, Leaf Mold, Manure, Lime, Piled Against Slippery Planks, Nothing Would Give Up Life: Even The Dirt Kept Breathing A Small Breath.

I Am Overwhelmed By The Beautiful Disorder Of Poetry, The Eternal Virginity Of Words.

Teach As An Old Fishing Guide Takes Out A Beginner.

(i Measure Time By How A Body Sways.)

Who Rise From Flesh To Spirit Know The Fall: The Word Outleaps The World, And Light Is All.