Shyness Is A Condition Foreign To The

Place Gifts Of Silver In Our Hands. Give Us This Day Our Daily Fish.

We Have To Discard The Past / And, As One Builds / Floor By Floor, Window By Window, / And The Building Rises, / So Do We Keep Shedding - First, Broken Tiles, / Then Proud Doors... And Each New Day / Gleams / Like An Empty / Plate.

In You Is The Illusion Of Each Day. You Arrive Like The Dew To The Cupped Flowers. You Undermine The Horizon With Your Absence. Eternally In Flight Like The Wave.

Under Your Skin The Moon Is Alive.

And The Verse Falls To The Soul Like Dew To The Pasture.