I would venture to guess that Anon, who wrote so many poems without signing them, was often a woman.

They went in and out of each other's minds without any effort.

... I doubt the capacity of the human animal for being dignified in ceremony.

When I cannot see words curling like rings of smoke round me I am in darkness—I am nothing.

Use words that soak up life.

Love, the poet said, is woman's whole existence.

Still, life had a way of adding day to day