If at the end of your first ten or fifteen years of fighting and working and feeling, you find you've written one line of one poem, you'll be very lucky indeed.

The eyes of my eyes are opened.

The sensual mysticism of entire vertical being.

Always the beautiful answer who asks a more beautiful question.

worms are the words but joy's the voice

...and down they forgot as up they grew.

yes is a world & in this world of yes live (skilfully curled) all worlds