There Are No Edges To My Loving

I Am So Close, I May Look Distant.

Now Be Silent. Let The One Who Creates The Words Speak. He Made The Door. He Made The Lock. He Also Made The Key.

Poems Are Rough Notations For The Music We Are.

Iron Was Black And Sheenless, But Cleansing And Polishing Washed Away Its Blackness.

Things Are Such That Someone Lifting A Cup, Or Watching The Rain, Petting A Dog, Or Singing, Just Singing - Could Be Doing As Much For This Universe As Anyone.