I Learn By Going Where I Have

I Bleed My Bones, Their Marrow To Bestowupon That God Who Knows What I Would Know.

To Follow The Drops Sliding From A Lifting Oar, Head Up, While The Rower Breathes, And The Small Boat Drifts Quietly Shoreward.

But When I Breath With The Birds, The Spirit Of Wrath Becomes The Spirit Of Blessings, And The Dead Begin From Their Dark To Sing In My Sleep.

And I Walked, I Walked Through The Light Air; I Moved With The Morning.

Over Every Mountain There Is A Path, Although It May Not Be Seen From The Valley.