Where, With Your One Rose You Can

In Your Beauty, How To Make Poems.

What In Your Life Is Calling You, When All The Noise Is Silenced, The Meetings Adjourned... The Lists Laid Aside, And The Wild Iris Blooms By Itself In The Dark Forest... What Still Pulls On Your Soul?

I Was A Tiny Bug. Now A Mountain. I Was Left Behind. Now Honored At The Head. You Healed My Wounded Hunger And Anger, And Made Me A Poet Who Sings About Joy.

A Lover Is Always Accused Of Something. But When He Finds His Love, Whatever Was Lost In The Looking Comes Back Completely Changed.

An Eye Is Meant To See Things. The Soul Is Here For Its Own Joy. A Head Has One Use: For Loving A True Love. Feet: To Chase After. Love Is For Vanishing Into The Sky. The Mind, For Learning What Men Have Done And Tried To Do. Mysteries Are Not To Be Solved: The Eye Goes Blind When It Only Wants To See Why. A Lover Is Always Accused Of Something. But When He Finds His Love, Whatever Was Lost In The Looking Comes Back Completely Changed.