Ah, Grief Makes Us Precise!

Stunned And Still Not Suffering. Swollen With Care And Anxiety And Still Not Suffering. Useless, Old And Full Of Grief, But Still Not Suffering.

I Was 15 When I First Became Deeply Touched By The Rhythm And Structure Of Words.

I'd Written A Lot Of Songs With Hummingbirds In Them. None Of Them Ever Came To Anything, But I Did Write A Few Lines Last Month. It Went Like This: 'listen To The Hummingbird Whose Wings You Cannot See. Listen To The Hummingbird, Don't Listen To Me'.

Nothing Can Stop You From Thinking. The Human Mind Is Designed To Think Continually.

In Streams Of Light I Clearly Saw The Dust You Seldom See, Out Of Which The Nameless Makes A Name For One Like Me... All Busy In The Sunlight The Flecks Did Float And Dance, And I Was Tumbled Up With Them In Formless Circumstance.