Only Silence Perfects Silence.

In Nature There Are Few Sharp Lines

What Destruction Have I Been Blessed By?

Once Every Five Hundred Years Or So, A Summary Statement About Poetry Comes Along That We Can't Imagine Ourselves Living Without

The White Sun Like A Moth On A String Circles The Southpole.

I Have A Life That Did Not Become, That Turned Aside And Stopped, Astonished