The laying of fish on the embers, the taste of the fish, the feel of the texture of bread, the round and the half-loaf, the grain of a petal, the rain-bow and the rain.

Dance until the earth dance.

Writing. Love is writing.

The whole white world is ours.

War is a fevered god who takes alike maiden and king and clod.

Until it seems the whole city will be covered with gold pollen shaken from the bell-towers, lilies plundered with the weight of massive bees . . .

...if you do not even understand what words say, how can you expect to pass judgement on what words conceal?