To Be Saved Is Here, Local And

Though I Have Looked Everywhere / I Can Find Nothing Lowly / In The Universe.

The White Sun Like A Moth On A String Circles The Southpole.

The Walk Liberating, I Was Released From Forms, From The Perpendiculars, Straight Lines, Blocks, Boxes, Binds Of Thought Into The Hues, Shadings, Rises, Flowing Bends And Blends Of Sight.

It's Not A Love Of Poetry Readings That Attracts Those Who Do Come To Them But Theater.

Even If You Walk Exactly The Same Route Each Time - As With A Sonnet - The Events Along The Route Cannot Be Imagined To Be The Same From Day To Day, As The Poet's Health, Sight, His Anticipations, Moods, Fears, Thoughts Cannot Be The Same.