How body from spirit slowly does unwind, until we are pure spirit at the end.

I learn by going where I have to go.

The visible exhausts me. I am dissolved in shadow.

Art is the means we have of undoing the damage of haste. It's what everything else isn't.

What's madness but nobility of soul At odds with circumstance? The day's on fire! I know the purity of pure despair, My shadow pinned against a sweating wall, That place among the rocks--is it a cave, Or winding path? The edge is what I have........ ....... Dark,dark my light, and darker my desire. My soul, like some heat-maddened summer fly, Keeps buzzing at the sill. ~From "The Waking" by Theodore Roethke

The poet: would rather eat a heart than a hambone.

I came where the river Ran over stones; My ears knew An early joy. And all the waters Of all the streams Sang in my veins That summer day.