I Dwell In Possibilities... A Fairer House

I Have An Appetite For Silence.

Inebriate Of Air Am I, And Debauchee Of Dew, Reeling, Through Endless Summer Days, From Inns Of Molten Blue.

Memory Is A Strange Bell—jubilee, And Knell.

I Work To Drive The Awe Away, Yet Awe Impels The Work.

Apparently With No Surprise To Any Happy Flower The Frost Beheads It At Its Play -- In Accidental Power -- The Blonde Assassin Passes On -- The Sun Proceeds Unmoved To Measure Off Another Day For An Approving God.