Sometimes it is necessary To reteach a thing its loveliness

Is there a mechanism of death, that so mutilates existence no one, gets over it not even the dead?

Little sleep's-head sprouting hair in the moonlight, when I come back we will go out together, we will walk out together among, the ten thousand things, each scratched too late with such knowledge, the wages of dying is love.

Sometimes it is necessary To reteach a thing its loveliness

Thats the way it is with poetry: When it is incomprehensible it seems profound, and when you understand it, it is only ridiculous.

I have always intended to live forever; but not until now, to live now.

It is necessary to reteach a thing its loveliness, to put a hand on its brow of the flower and retell it in words and in touch it is lovely until it flowers again from within, of self-blessing.