The First Step... Shall Be To Lose

When I Sleepwalk Into Your Room, And Pick You Up, And Hold You Up In The Moonlight, You Cling To Me Hard, As If Clinging Could Save Us. I Think You Think I Will Never Die, I Think I Exude To You The Permanence Of Smoke Or Stars, Even As My Broken Arms Heal Themselves Around You.

This One Whom Habit Of Memory Propels To The Ground Of His Making, Sleeper Only The Mortal Sounds Can Sing Awake, This Blessing Love Gives Again Into Our Arms.

Sometimes It Is Necessary To Reteach A Thing Its Loveliness

I Love To Go Out In Late September Among The Fat, Overripe, Icy, Black Blackberries To Eat Blackberries For Breakfast, The Stalks Very Prickly, A Penalty They Earn For Knowing The Black Art Of Blackberry-making; And As I Stand Among Them Lifting The Stalks To My Mouth, The Ripest Berries Fall Almost Unbidden To My Tongue, As Words Sometimes Do, Certain Peculiar Words Like Strengths Or Squinched, Many-lettered, One-syllabled Lumps, Which I Squeeze, Squinch Open, And Splurge Well In The Silent, Startled, Icy, Black Language Of Blackberry - Eating In Late September.

I Will Find That Special Person Who Is Wrong For Me In Just The Right Way.