There's a certain slant of light, On winter afternoons, That oppresses, like the weight Of cathedral tunes.

To be alive──is Power.

The truth I do not dare to know I muffle with a jest.

Existence has overpowered Books. Today I slew a Mushroom.

Exultation is the going Of an inland soul to sea Past the houses, past the headlands Into deep eternity! Bred as we, among the mountains Can the sailor understand The divine intoxication Of the first league out from land?

Until you have loved, you cannot become yourself.

There is a pain so utter, it swallows being up; The covers the abyss with a trance So memory can step around, across, upon it.