I Am Still Learning. (at Age 87)

My Beard Towards Heaven, I Feel My Nape Support / The Back Of My Head, I Grow The Breast Of A Harpy / And My Brush As It Drips Continually / Upon My Face, Makes It A Gorgeous Floor.

If I Am More Alive Because Love Burns And Chars Me, As A Fire, Given Wood Or Wind, Feels New Elation, It's That He Who Lays Me Low Is My Salvation, And Invigorates The More, The More He Scars Me.

Patience Is Eternal Genius

Dear To Me Is Sleep: Still More, Being Made Of Stone, While Pain And Guilt Still Linger Here Below, Blindness And Numbness--these Please Me Alone; Then Do Not Wake Me, Keep Your Voices Low.

Perfection Is No Small Thing, But It Is Made Up Of Small Things.