The Story Of Each Stone Leads Back

Any Work Of Art Makes One Very Simple Demand On Anyone Who Genuinely Wants To Get In Touch With It. And That Is To Stop. You've Got To Stop What You're Doing, What You're Thinking, And What You're Expecting And Just Be There For The Poem For However Long It Takes.

Every Year Without Knowing It I Have Passed The Day When The Last Fires Will Wave To Me

My Cradle Was A Shoe.

This Is What I Have Heard At Last The Wind In December Lashing The Old Trees With Rain Unseen Rain Racing Along The Tiles Under The Moon Wind Rising And Falling Wind With Many Clouds Trees In The Night Wind.

From What We Cannot Hold The Stars Are Made.