I Long For The Imperishable Quiet At

I Teach My Sighs To Lengthen Into Songs.

I Can't Go On Flying Apart Just For Those Who Want The Benefit Of A Few Verbal Kicks. My God, Do You Know What Poems Like That Cost? They're Not Written Vicariously: They Come Out Of Actual Suffering, Real Madness.

A Lively Understandable Spirit Once Entertained You. It Will Come Again. Be Still. Wait.

Should We Say The Self, Once Perceived, Becomes The Soul?

Over Every Mountain There Is A Path, Although It May Not Be Seen From The Valley.