The Grass As Bristly And Stout As

The Man Inside Of Woman Ties A Knot So That They Will Never Again Be Separate.

There Is Joy In All: In The Hair I Brush Each Morning, In The Cannon Towel, Newly Washed, That I Rub My Body With Each Morning.

Then God Spoke To Me And Said: People Say Only Good Things About Christmas. If They Want To Say Something Bad, They Whisper.

Not That It Was Beautiful, But That I Found Some Order There.

Blind With Love, My Daughter Has Cried Nightly For Horses, Those Long-necked Marchers And Churners That She Has Mastered, Any And All, Reigning Them In Like A Circus Hand.