I like to find what's not found at once, but lies within something of another nature, in repose, distinct.

Two girls discover the secret of life in a sudden line of poetry.

In city, in suburb, in forest, no way to stretch out the arms - so if you would grow, go straight up or deep down.

Grief is a hole you walk around in the daytime and at night you fall into it.

I like to find what's not found at once, but lies within something of another nature, in repose, distinct.

Days pass when I forget the mystery. Problems insoluble and problems offering their own ignored solutions jostle for my attention, they crowd its antechamber along with a host of diversions, my courtiers, wearing their colored clothes; caps and bells. And then once more the quiet mystery is present to me, the throng's clamor recedes: the mystery that there is anything, anything at all, let alone cosmos, joy, memory, everything, rather than void: and that, 0 Lord, Creator, Hallowed one, You still, hour by hour sustain it.

If woman is inconstant, good, I am faithful to ebb and flow, I fall in season and now is a time of ripening.