I Never Feel So Much Myself As

I Love The People,' I Said. 'i Have Room In Me For Love, And For Ever So Many Little Lives.

I Am Learning Peacefulness, Lying By Myself Quietly, As The Light Lies On These White Walls, This Bed, These Hands. I Am Nobody; I Have Nothing To Do With Explosions.

The Door Of The Novel, Like The Door Of The Poem, Also Shuts. But Not So Fast, Nor With Such Manic, Unanswerable Finality.

The Tulips Are Too Red...they Hurt Me.

I Must Be Lean & Write & Make Worlds Beside This To Live In.