I Think That At The Bottom Of

It Becomes Still More Difficult To Find
words At Once True And Kind,
or Not Untrue And Not Unkind.

All The Unhurried Day / Your Mind Lay Open Like A Drawer Of Knives.

So Many Things I Had Thought Forgotten Return To My Mind With Stranger Pain: Like Letters That Arrive Addressed To Someone Who Left The House So Many Years Ago.

What Will Survive Of Us Is Love.

... Everyone Young Going Down The Long Slide To Happiness, Endlessly.