In a dark time, the eye begins to see / I meet my shadow in the deepening shade...Dark, dark my light, and darker my desire.
We think by feeling. What is there to know?
You must believe a poem is a holy thing, a good poem, that is.
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.
Should we say the self, once perceived, becomes the soul?
May my silences become more accurate.