Time Marks Us While We Are Marking

Civilization Is Over-rated, But There Isn't Much Else.

I Am Overwhelmed By The Beautiful Disorder Of Poetry, The Eternal Virginity Of Words.

Deep In Their Roots, All Flowers Keep The Light.

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

In This Place Of Light: He Dares To Live Who Stops Being A Bird, Yet Beats His Wings Against The Immense Immeasurable Emptiness Of Things.