I Dwell In Possiblities.

Sweet Skepticism Of The Heart That Knows And Does Not Know And Tosses Like A Fleet Of Balm Affronted By The Snow.

Love Can Do All But Raise The Dead.

A Courteous, Yet Harrowing Grace, As Guest, That Would Be Gone

A Murmur In The Trees - To Note - Not Loud Enough - For Wind - A Star - Not Far Enough To Seek - Nor Near Enough - To Find

The Hearts That Never Lean Must Fall.