To Start At A New Place Is

A Writer Once Said To Me, If You Ever Go To America, Go Either To The East Coast Or The West Coast: The Rest Is A Desert Full Of Bigots. That's What I Think I'd Like . . . A Version Of Pastoral.

I Have Wished You Something None Of The Others Would.

Here No Elsewhere Underwrites My Existence.

And Immediately Rather Than Words Comes The Thought Of High Windows: The Sun-comprehending Glass, And Beyond It, The Deep Blue Air, That Shows Nothing, And Is Nowhere, And Is Endless.

Novels Seem To Me To Be Richer, Broader, Deeper, More Enjoyable Than Poems.