How body from spirit slowly does unwind, until we are pure spirit at the end.
The stones were sharp, The wind came at my back; Walking along the highway, Mincing like a cat.
We think by feeling. What is there to know?
Any fool can take a bad line out of a poem; it takes a real pro to throw out a good line.
Be sure that whatever you are is you.
I teach my sighs to lengthen into songs.