Forgive me if I sleep until I wake up.

An American is a complex of occasions, themselves a geometry of spatial nature.

I sound like Homer. I mean Winslow Homer.

All that matters is that the thing be the thing of the thing.

Forgive me if I sleep until I wake up.

There is a grace of life which is still yours, my dear Europe.

The poem, for me, is simply the first sound realized in the modality of being.