Being, not doing, is my first joy.

So much of adolescence is an ill-defined dying, An intolerable waiting, A longing for another place and time, Another condition.

I learned not to fear infinity, The far field, the windy cliffs of forever, The dying of time in the white light of tomorrow, The wheel turning away from itself, The sprawl of the wave, The on-coming water.

Pain wanders through my bones like a lost fire

In this place of light: he dares to live Who stops being a bird, yet beats his wings Against the immense immeasurable emptiness of things.

I wish I could find an event that meant as much as simple seeing.

What we need is more people who specialize in the impossible.