The Painter Saw What Was,

As If Hands Were Enough To Hold An Avalanche Off.

Direct Me Gods, Whose Changes Are All Holy, To Where It Flickers Deep In Grass, The Moly.

As Humans We Look At Things And Think About What We've Looked At. We Treasure It In A Kind Of Private Art Gallery.

One Joins The Movement In A Valueless World, Choosing It, Till Both Hurler And The Hurled, One Moves As Well, Always Toward, Toward.

A Literary Influence Is Never Just A Literary Influence. It's Also An Influence In The Way You See Everything - In The Way You Feel Your Life.