Deftly They Opened The Brain Of A

Forward My Mail To Mars.

It Is My Heart That's Late, It Is My Song That's Flown.

The Heart Breaks And Breaks And Lives By Breaking It Is Necessary To Go Through Dark And Deeper Dark And Not To Turn

In Every House Of Marriage There's Room For An Interpreter.

I Dropped My Hoe And Ran Into The House And Started To Write This Poem, 'end Of Summer.’ It Began As A Celebration Of Wild Geese. Eventually The Geese Flew Out Of The Poem, But I Like To Think They Left Behind The Sound Of Their Beating Wings.