Today Is Today, And Yesterday Is Gone.

If Nothing Saves Us From Death, At Least Love Should Save Us From Life

On Our Earth, Before Writing Was Invented, Before The Printing Press Was Invented, Poetry Flourished. That Is Why We Know That Poetry Is Like Bread; It Should Be Shared By All, By Scholars And By Peasants, By All Our Vast, Incredible, Extraordinary Family Of Humanity.

Here I Came To The Very Edge Where Nothing At All Needs Saying, Everything Is Absorbed Through Weather And The Sea, And The Moon Swam Back, Its Rays All Silvered, And Time And Again The Darkness Would Be Broken By The Crash Of A Wave, And Every Day On The Balcony Of The Sea, Wings Open, Fire Is Born, And Everything Is Blue Again Like Morning.

And The Verse Falls To The Soul Like Dew To The Pasture.

We Came By Night To The Fortunate Isles, And Lay Like Fish Under The Net Of Our Kisses.