Somewhere someone is traveling furiously toward you, At incredible speed, traveling day and night, Through blizzards and desert heat, across torrents, through narrow passes. But will he know where to find you, Recognize you when he sees you, Give you the thing he has for you?

I don't want to read what is going to slide down easily; there has to be some crunch, a certain amount of resilience.

Will occur as time grows more open about it.

The summer demands and takes away too much. /But night, the reserved, the reticent, gives more than it takes

I often wonder if I am suffering from some mental dysfunction because of how weird and baffling my poetry seems to so many people and sometimes to me too.

Just when I thought there wasn't room enough for another thought in my head, I had this great idea—

A perfect example of the new republic's urge to drape itself with the togas of classical respectability.