Writing. Love Is Writing.

Lift Up Our Eyes To You? No, God, We Stare And Stare, Upon A Nearer Thing That Greets Us Here, Death, Violent And Near.

Until It Seems The Whole City Will Be Covered With Gold Pollen Shaken From The Bell-towers, Lilies Plundered With The Weight Of Massive Bees . . .

The Greeks Have Snatched Up Their Spears. They Have Pointed The Helms Of Their Ships Toward The Bulwarks Of Troy.

The Race May Or May Not Be To The Swift, But Tell Me, Is It Likely That The Fight Will Be Entrusted To The Dead?

Escape From The Power Of The Hunting Pack, And To Know That Wisdom Is Best And Beauty Sheer Holiness.