The Poet Lights The Light And Fades

A Dim Capacity For Wings Demeans The Dress I Wear.

I Have An Appetite For Silence.

Speech Is One Symptom Of Affection; And Silence One; The Perfect Communication Is Heard Of None.

That It Will Never Come Again Is What Makes Life Sweet.

Ample Make This Bed. Make This Bed With Awe; In It Wait Till Judgment Break Excellent And Fair. Be Its Mattress Straight, Be Its Pillow Round; Let No Sunrise’ Yellow Noise Interrupt This Ground.