I Have Gone Into The Waste Lonely

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.

Love Begets Love. This Torment Is My Joy.

How Body From Spirit Slowly Does Unwind, Until We Are Pure Spirit At The End.

I Can Hear, Underground, That Sucking And Sobbing, In My Veins, In My Bones I Feel It,- The Small Water Seeping Upward, The Tight Grains Parting At Last. When Sprouts Break Out, Slippery As Fish, I Quail, Lean To Beginnings, Sheath-wet.

I'm Sure I've Been A Toad, One Time Or Another. With Bats, Weasels, Worms...i Rejoice In The Kinship. Even The Caterpillar I Can Love, And The Various Vermin.