Every Poem Is A Momentary Stay Against

That Day She Put Our Heads Together, Fate Had Her Imagination About Her, Your Head So Much Concerned With Outer, Mine With Inner, Weather.

What You Want, What You're Hanging Around In The World Waiting For, Is For Something To Occur To You.

Love Has Earth To Which She Clings.

The Land Was Ours Before We Were The Land's. She Was Our Land More Than A Hundred Years Before We Were Her People.

The Heart Can Think Of No Devotion Greater Than Being Shore To The Ocean- Holding The Curve Of One Position, Counting An Endless Repetition.