Wake the happy words.

Love begets love. This torment is my joy.

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow. I feel my fate in what I cannot fear. I learn by going where I have to go.

And what a congress of stinks!- Roots ripe as old bait, Pulpy stems, rank, silo-rich, Leaf mold, manure, lime, piled against slippery planks, Nothing would give up life: Even the dirt kept breathing a small breath.

Nothing would give up life: Even the dirt keeps breathing a small breath.

Wake the happy words.

I have gone into the waste lonely places