What if they gave a war and nobody came?

I have written some poetry that I don't understand myself.

It was here we turned the coffee cups upside down. And your eyes and the moon swept the valley.

Valor is a gift. Those having it never know for sure whether they have it until the test comes.

Poetry is a plan for a slit in the face of a bronze fountain goat and the path of fresh drinking water.

I cried over beautiful things, knowing no beautiful thing lasts.

Strange things blow in through my window on the wings of the night wind and I don't worry about my destiny.