I wonder if the course of narcissism through the ages would have been any different had Narcissus first peered into a cesspool. He probably did.

The poem is at last between two persons instead of two pages. In all modesty, I confess that it may be the death of literature as we know it.

And don't worry about your lineage poetic or natural.

And always embrace things, people earth sky stars, as I do, freely and with the appropriate sense of space.

I wouldn’t want to be faster or greener than now if you were with me O you were the best of all my days!

That's not a run in your stocking, it's a hand on your leg.

If I am ever to find these trees meaningful I must have you by the hand. As it is, they stretch dusty fingers into an obscure sky, and the snow looks up like a face dirtied with tears. Should I cry out and see what happens? There could only be a stranger wandering in this landscape, cold, unfortunate, himself frozen fast in wintry eyes.