I've Always Wanted To Write Poems And

There Is Only One Question: / How To Love This World.

How Heron Comes It Is A Negligence Of The Mind Not To Notice How At Dusk Heron Comes To The Pond And Stands There In His Death Robes, Perfect Servant Of The System, Hungry, His Eyes Full Of Attention, His Wings Pure Light

Writing A Poem ... Is A Kind Of Possible Love Affair Between Something Like The Heart (that Courageous But Also Shy Factory Of Emotion) And The Learned Skills Of The Conscious Mind.

If You Have Ever Gone Into The Woods With Me, I Must Love You Very Much.

I Want To Believe I Am Looking Into The White Fire Of A Great Mystery.