Religion And Science Both Profess Peace (and

I Sometimes Talk About The Making Of A Poem Within The Poem.

Once In Awhile You Have A Thought, And You Rhyme It.

I Have A Plot, But Not Much Happens.

Till I, High In The Tower Of My Time Among Familiar Ruins, Began To Cry For Accident, Sickness, Justice, War And Crime, Because All Died, Because I Had To Die. The Snow Fell, The Trees Stood, The Promise Kept, And A Child I Slept.

Writing Is Like The Relationship With Your Bowels. First You Can, Then You Can't. Finally, You Must. Only Then Should You Reach For The Paper.