You Must Believe A Poem Is A

And I Rejoiced In Being What I Was.

Love Is Not Love Until Love's Vulnerable.

Deep In Their Roots, All Flowers Keep The Light.

All Finite Things Reveal Infinitude: The Mountain With Its Singular Bright Shade Like The Blue Shine On Freshly Frozen Snow, The After-light Upon Ice-burdened Pines; Odor Of Basswood Upon A Mountain Slope, A Scene Beloved Of Bees; Silence Of Water Above A Sunken Tree: The Pure Serene Of Memory Of One Man,- A Ripple Widening From A Single Stone Winding Around The Waters Of The World.

The Mind Enters Itself, And God The Mind, And One Is One, Free In The Tearing Wind.