I Teach My Sighs To Lengthen Into

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

And What A Congress Of Stinks!- Roots Ripe As Old Bait, Pulpy Stems, Rank, Silo-rich, Leaf Mold, Manure, Lime, Piled Against Slippery Planks, Nothing Would Give Up Life: Even The Dirt Kept Breathing A Small Breath.

By Daily Dying, I Have Come To Be.

Teach As An Old Fishing Guide Takes Out A Beginner.

Time Marks Us While We Are Marking Time.