Why Is It A Surprise To Find

Who Can Ever Say The Perfect Thing To The Poet About His Poetry?

I Saw How The Forms Of Love Might Be Maintained With A Condemned Person But With The Love In Fact Measured And Disciplined, Because You Have To Survive. It Could Be Done So Discreetly That The Object Of Such Care Would Not Suspect, Any More Than She Would Suspect The Sentence Of Death Itself.

What She Felt Was A Lighthearted Sort Of Compassion, Almost Like Laughter. A Swish Of Tender Hilarity, Getting The Better Of All Her Sores And Hollows, For The Time Given.

You Think That Would Have Changed Things? The Answer Is Of Course, And For A While, And Never.

The Complexity Of Things - The Things Within Things - Just Seems To Be Endless. I Mean Nothing Is Easy, Nothing Is Simple.