God Has A Brown Voice, As Soft

Poetry To Me Is Prayer.

Not That It Was Beautiful, But That I Found Some Order There.

I Am A Collection Of Dismantled Almosts.

My Faith Is A Great Weight Hung On A Small Wire, As Doth The Spider Hang Her Baby On A Thin Web.

It Is A Dead Heart. It Is Inside Of Me. It Is A Stranger Yet Once It Was Agreeable, Opening And Closing Like A Clam.