Poetry Is A Way Of Looking At

Now All My Teachers Are Dead Except Silence.

I Say To My Breath Once Again, Little Breath Come From In Front Of Me, Go Away Behind Me, Row Me Quietly Now, As Far As You Can, For I Am An Abyss That I Am Trying To Cross.

I Offer You What I Have My Poverty

What You Remember Saves You.

Through All Of Youth I Was Looking For You Without Knowing What I Was Looking For