I don't see,' I said, 'how people stand being old. Your insides all dry up. When you're young you're so self-reliant. You don't even need much religion.
The one man in the room who was as big as his poems, huge, with hulk and dynamic chunks of words.
The sky leans on me, me, the one upright among all horizontals.
I have stitched life into me like a rare organ
I am myself. That is not enough.
The silence drew off, baring the pebbles and shells and all the tatty wreckage of my life.