Teach me, like you, to drink creation whole/ And casting out myself, become a soul.
Step off assuredly into the blank of your mind. Something will come to you.
Happy in all that ragged, loose collapse of water, the fountain, its effortless descent and flatteries of spray.
Composition for me is, externally at least, scarcely distinguishable from catatonia.
The eye is pleased when nature stoops to art.
Whatever pains disease may bring Are but the tangy seasoning To Loves delicious fare.