wholly to be a fool while Spring is in the world my blood approves, and kisses are a far better fate than wisdom lady i swear by all flowers.

nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

I was too tired to think. I merely felt the town as a unique unreality. What was it? I knew -- the moon's picture of a town. These streets with their houses did not exist, they were but a ludicrous projection of the moon's sumptuous personality. This was a city of Pretend, created by the hypnotism of moonnight. -- Yet when I examined the moon she too seemed but a painting of a moon and the sky in which she lived a fragile echo of color. If I blew hard the whole shy mechanism would collapse gently with a neat soundless crash. I must not, or lose all.

in the street of the sky night walks scattering poems

I will take the sun in my mouth and leap into the ripe air Alive with closed eyes to dash against darkness

The sweet small clumsy feet of april came into the ragged meadow of my soul.

You and I are more than you and I because it's we.