Love Begets Love. This Torment Is My

To Follow The Drops Sliding From A Lifting Oar, Head Up, While The Rower Breathes, And The Small Boat Drifts Quietly Shoreward.

I Am Overwhelmed By The Beautiful Disorder Of Poetry, The Eternal Virginity Of Words.

(i Measure Time By How A Body Sways.)

I Bleed My Bones, Their Marrow To Bestowupon That God Who Knows What I Would Know.

Pain Wanders Through My Bones Like A Lost Fire