In The Air, There Your Root Remains,

Reality Is Not Simply There, It Does Not Simply Exist: It Must Be Sought Out And Won.

No One Bears Witness For The Witness

Only Truthful Hands Write True Poems. I Cannot See Any Basic Difference Between A Handshake And A Poem.

The Language With Which I Make My Poems Has Nothing To Do With One Spoken Here, Or Anywhere.

Rush Of Pine Scent (once Upon A Time), The Unlicensed Conviction There Ought To Be Another Way Of Saying This.