From What We Cannot Hold The Stars

My Words Are The Garment Of What I Shall Never Be Like The Tucked Sleeve Of A One-armed Boy.

Sitting Over Words Very Late I Have Heard A Kind Of Whispered Sighing Not Far Like A Night Wind In Pines Or Like The Sea In The Dark The Echo Of Everything That Has Ever Been Spoken Still Spinning Its One Syllable Between The Earth And Silence.

To Succeed [,] Consider What Is As Though It Were Past, Deem Yourself Inevitable And Take Credit For It. If You No Longer Believe, Enlarge The Temple.

Every Year Without Knowing It I Have Passed The Day When The Last Fires Will Wave To Me

This Is What I Have Heard At Last The Wind In December Lashing The Old Trees With Rain Unseen Rain Racing Along The Tiles Under The Moon Wind Rising And Falling Wind With Many Clouds Trees In The Night Wind.