His Lips Drink Water But His Heart

If A Poet Is Anybody, He Is Somebody To Whom Things Made Matter Very Little - Somebody Who Is Obsessed By Making.

In The Street Of The Sky Night Walks Scattering Poems

One's Not Half Two. It's Two Are Halves Of One.

Love Is The Voice Under All Silences, The Hope Which Has No Opposite In Fear; The Strength So Strong Mere Force Is Feebleness: The Truth More First Than Sun, More Last Than Star.

All Ignorance Toboggans Into Know And Trudges Up To Ignorance Again.