I Am Out Of Practice At Living.

Blind With Love, My Daughter Has Cried Nightly For Horses, Those Long-necked Marchers And Churners That She Has Mastered, Any And All, Reigning Them In Like A Circus Hand.

I Am Alone Here In My Own Mind. There Is No Map And There Is No Road. It Is One Of A Kind Just As Yours Is.

Let There Be Seasons So That Our Tongues Will Be Rich In Asparagus And Limes.

The Marriage Twists, Holds Firm, A Sailor's Knot.

A Woman Who Writes Feels Too Much.