I Grow Old On My Bitterness.

Even So, I Must Admire Your Skill. You Are So Gracefully Insane.

I Raise My Pelvis To God So That It May Know The Truth Of How Flowers Smash Through The Long Winter.

And What Of The Dead? They Lie Without Shoes In The Stone Boats. They Are More Like Stone Than The Sea Would Be If It Stopped. They Refuse To Be Blessed, Throat, Eye And Knucklebone.

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

As A Writer One Has To Take The Chance On Being A Fool.