I Am Overwhelmed By The Beautiful Disorder

I Lose And Find Myself In The Long Water. I Am Gathered Together Once More.

What We Need Is More People Who Specialize In The Impossible.

But When I Breath With The Birds, The Spirit Of Wrath Becomes The Spirit Of Blessings, And The Dead Begin From Their Dark To Sing In My Sleep.

I Teach My Sighs To Lengthen Into Songs.

Long Live The Weeds That Overwhelm My Narrow Vegetable Realm! The Bitter Rock, The Barren Soil That Force The Son Of Man To Toil; All Things Unholy, Marred By Curse, The Ugly Of The Universe.