If After I Read A Poem The

Close, Close All Night The Lovers Keep. They Turn Together In Their Sleep, Close As Two Pages In A Book That Read Each Other In The Dark. Each Knows All The Other Knows, Learned By Heart From Head To Toes.

What The Man-moth Fears Most He Must Do.

Open The Book. (the Gilt Rubs Off The Edges Of The Pages And Pollinates The Fingertips.)

There Are Some People Whom We Envy Not Because They Are Rich Or Handsome Or Successful, Although They May Be All Or Any Of These, But Because Everything They Are Or Do Seems To Be All Of A Piece, So That Even If They Wanted To They Could Not Be Or Do Otherwise.

Oh, Must We Dream Our Dreams And Have Them, Too?