This Poetry. I Never Know What I'm

The Soul: A Wide Listening Sky With Thousands Of Candles.

In Your Beauty, How To Make Poems.

You Have Been Walking The Ocean's Edge, Holding Up Your Robes To Keep Them Dry. You Must Dive Naked Under And Deeper Under, A Thousand Times Deeper. Love Flows Down. The Ground Submits To The Sky And Suffers What Comes. Tell Me, Is The Earth Worse For Giving In Like That? Do Not Put Blankets Over The Drum. Open Completely.

I Am A Child Whose Teacher Is Love Surely My Master Won't Let Me Grow To Be A Fool.

Your Hand Opens And Closes, Opens And Closes. If It Were Always A Fist Or Always Stretched Open, You Would Be Paralysed. Your Deepest Presence Is In Every Small Contracting And Expanding, The Two As Beautifully Balanced And Coordinated As Birds' Wings.