Not easy to state the change you made. If I'm alive now, I was dead, Though, like a stone, unbothered by it.

Outcast on a cold star, unable to feel anything but an awful helpless numbness. I look down into the warm, earthy world. Into a nest of lovers' beds, baby cribs, meal tables, all the solid commerce of life in this earth, and feel apart, enclosed in a wall of glass.

I am I-I am powerful, but to what extent? I am I.

We stayed at home to write, to consolidate our outstretched selves.

I am jealous of those who think more deeply, who write better, who draw better, who ski better, who look better, who live better, who love better than I.

I have been holding a dialogue with myself and girding myself to stand fast without running.

Love set you going like a fat gold watch. The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry Took its place among the elements.