it is in the craftingof a line of poetryas the body in yogathe pain and sufferinginching the musclesset into motionto order memoriestogether with the ..
This is how the carver writes its poem:The log cracks unfold in their repose palpitating abstractions,Within sensuous labyrinths the tree sprouts from..
and I had foresuffered it allby the waters of leman as I weptrecorded by an inquisitive poet;but to what relief? wherehas all this knowing taken me?to..
youcan't be you with people, thoughcannot know you without them_what we wantfor and from othersis the silent cageof our feelings.if feelings are our c..
who is this shadowthay we write poems to?is it a woman?no it can't befor a woman has nothingof the constant fleeting presencethat revives on her featu..
In the midst of the ripples watery consonantsi pine and muse upon the forest sodden times,when at my sight stood gatheredmeadows outstretched below th..
may all that is gonebe recorded into song;what was of wrongat my hearth throne_and of loves and of hates,held dear in nature gates,be my voice with no..