The Ear Writes My Poems, Not The

I Have Walked Through Many Lives, Some Of Them My Own, And I Am Not Who I Was, Though Some Principle Of Being Abides, From Which I Struggle Not To Stray.

My Mother Never Forgave My Father

How Shall The Heart Be Reconciled / To Its Feast Of Losses?

Not That You Need To Be A Saint To Have Visions Worth Talking About. The Most Effective Prescription, I Suspect, Is To Be A Disciplined Sinner. Perfection, As Valery Noted, Is Work.

The Universe Is A Continuous Web. Touch It At Any Point And The Whole Web Quivers.