If You Pluck Out My Heart To

All The Heat And Fear Had Purged Itself. I Felt Surprisingly At Peace. The Bell Jar Hung Suspended A Few Feet Above My Head. I Was Open To The Circulating Air.

What Did My Fingers Do Before They Held Him? What Did My Heart Do, With Its Love?

What I Fear Most, I Think, Is The Death Of The Imagination.

Every Day Is Precious And I Feel Infinitely Sad At This Time Melting Away From Me.

Everything In Life Is Writable.