Laughter Is The Language Of The Soul.

We Open The Halves Of A Miracle, And A Clotting Of Acids Brims Into The Starry Divisions: Creation's Original Juices, Irreducible, Changeless, Alive: So The Freshness Lives On

Poetry Arrived In Search Of Me. I Don't Know, I Don't Know Where It Came From, From Winter Or A River. I Don't Know How Or When.

I Love All Things, Not Because They Are Passionate Or Sweet-smelling But Because, I Don't Know, Because This Ocean Is Yours, And Mine: These Buttons And Wheels And Little Forgotten Treasures, Fans Upon Whose Feathers Love Has Scattered Its Blossoms, Glasses, Knives And Scissors -- All Bear The Trace Of Someone's Fingers On Their Handle Or Surface, The Trace Of A Distant Hand Lost In The Depths Of Forgetfulness.

In One Kiss, You'll Know All I Haven't Said.

I Don't Know Who It Is Who Lives Or Dies, Who Rests Or Wakes, But It Is Your Heart That Distributes All The Graces Of The Daybreak In My Breast.