It Seemed Clear That Wars Were Not

As I Walked Briskly Out The Road The Wind Knifed At My Face, But This Sun Caressed The Back Of My Neck.

So The More Things Remained The Same, The More They Changed After All. Nothing Endures. Not Love, Not A Tree, Not Even A Death By Violence.

I Did No Know Everything There Was To Know About Myself, And Knew That I Did Not Know It.

All Of Them, All Except Phineas, Constructed At Infinite Cost To Themselves These Maginot Lines Against This Enemy They Thought They Saw Across The Frontier, This Enemy Who Never Attacked That Way-if He Ever Attacked At All; If He Was Indeed The Enemy.

It Was Hard To Remember In The Heavy And Sensual Clarity Of These Mornings; I Forgot Whom I Hated And Who Hated Me. I Wanted To Break Out Crying From Stabs Of Hopeless Joy, Or Intolerable Promise, Or Because These Mornings Were Too Full Of Beauty For Me, Because I Knew Of Too Much Hate To Be Contained In A World Like This.