The hands are the heart's messengers.
We prove, we do not explain, our birth.
I wonder what Adam and Eve think of it by this time.
Wolf's wool is the best of wool, / but it cannot be sheared because / the wolf will not comply.
I never 'plan' a stanza. Words cluster like chromosomes, determining the procedure.
The Irish say your trouble is their trouble and your joy their joy? I wish I could believe it; I am troubled, I'm dissatisfied, I'm Irish.