The Visible Exhausts Me. I Am Dissolved

The Damage Of Teaching: The Constant Contact With The Undeveloped.

By Daily Dying, I Have Come To Be.

I Wish I Could Find An Event That Meant As Much As Simple Seeing.

Too Much Reality Can Be A Dazzle, A Surfeit;too Close Immediacy An Exhaustion

I Can Hear, Underground, That Sucking And Sobbing, In My Veins, In My Bones I Feel It,- The Small Water Seeping Upward, The Tight Grains Parting At Last. When Sprouts Break Out, Slippery As Fish, I Quail, Lean To Beginnings, Sheath-wet.