I Defer To All These

Were All Moving, Moving, Moving. Isnt It Nice?

I Defer To All These Other American Poets Who, For Some Reason, I Both Envy And Admire.

This Morning Of The Small Snow I Count The Blessings, The Leak In The Faucet Which Makes Of The Sink Time, The Drop Of The Water On Water.

Knowledge Is The Harvest Of Attention

The Poem, For Me, Is Simply The First Sound Realized In The Modality Of Being.