Up from the bronze, I saw Water without a flaw Rush to its rest in air Reach to its rest, and fall.

Up from the bronze, I saw Water without a flaw Rush to its rest in air Reach to its rest, and fall.

But childhood prolonged, cannot remain a fairyland. It becomes a hell.

The Initial Mystery that attends any journey is: how did the traveler reach his starting point in the first place?

I cannot believe that the inscrutable universe turns on an axis of suffering; surely the strange beauty of the world must somewhere rest on pure joy!

The measured blood beats out the year's delay.

I don't like quintessential certitude.