A Mind Too Active Is No Mind

And I Walked, I Walked Through The Light Air; I Moved With The Morning.

What Have I Done, Dear God, To Deserve This Perpetual Feeling That I'm Almost Ready To Begin Something Really New?

You Must Believe A Poem Is A Holy Thing, A Good Poem, That Is.

Nothing Would Give Up Life: Even The Dirt Keeps Breathing A Small Breath.

May My Silences Become More Accurate.