It Is Forbidden To Love Where We

... Sometimes I Can Feel It, The Way We Are Pouring Slowly Toward A Curve And Around It Through Something Dark And Soft, And We Are Bound To Each Other.

She'd Crack A Joke Sharp As A Tin Lid Hot From The Teeth Of The Can-opener, And Cackle Her Crack-corn Laugh.

There Is Something In Me Maybe Someday To Be Written; Now It Is Folded, And Folded, And Folded, Like A Note In School.

The Older I Get, The More I Feel.

Because A Poem Is Not Written While Running Or While Answering The Phone. It's Written In Whatever Minutes One Has. Sometimes You Have Half An Hour.