There's no vocabulary For love within a family, love that's lived in But not looked at, love within the light of which All else is seen, the love within which All other love finds speech. This love is silent.
I am aware of the damp souls of housemaids Sprouting despondently at area gates.
Teach us to care and not to care
Disillusion can become itself an illusion If we rest in it.
Survival is your strength not your shame.
Poetry may make us from time to time a little more aware of the deeper, unnamed feelings which form the substratum of our being, to which we rarely penetrate; for our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves.