I Write Down Portions, Maybe Fragments, And

The Whole Joy Of Writing Comes From The Opportunity To Go Over It And Make It Good, One Way Or Another.

God Is The God Of The People Who Are At Their Wits End, Who Are Right Up Against It With Their Backs To The Wall, And He Delights To Come To Our Help When We Need Him Most.

In General, American Life Is More Easy-going. And Civic Pride, National Pride In A Cultural Sense, Is Great In America. I Think What They Esteem In America Is Character And Energy, And Being Different And Superior To Other Peoples. Of Course, Every Nation Feels Itself To Be Superior, But In America It's A Jaunty Feeling, And In Some Cases A Rather Ominous One Among The Super-patriots.

We Dash The Black River, Its Flats Smooth As Stone. Not A Ship, Not A Dinghy, Not One Cry Of White. The Water Lies Broken, Cracked From The Wind. This Great Estuary Is Wide, Endless. The River Is Brackish, Blue With The Cold. It Passes Beneath Us Blurring. The Sea Birds Hang Above It, They Wheel, Disappear. We Flash The Wide River, A Dream Of The Past. The Deeps Fall Behind, The Bottom Is Paling The Surface, We Rush By The Shallows, Boats Beached For Winter, Desolate Piers. And On Wings Like The Gulls, Soar Up, Turn, Look Back.

We Were Moderate, We Will Never Know What It Is To Spill Out Our Lives.