Tall Poplars--human Beings Of This

A Nothing We Were, Are, Shall Remain, Flowering: The Nothing--, The No One's Rose.

He Speaks Truly Who Speaks The Shade.

German Poetry Is Going In A Very Different Direction From French Poetry.... Its Language Has Become More Sober, More Factual. It Distrusts "beauty." It Tries To Be Truthful.

They've Healed Me To Pieces.

Each Arrow You Shoot Off Carries Its Own Target Into The Decidedly Secret Tangle