The True Word Leads; The

Dread Of Night. Dread Of Not-night.

You Are At Once Both The Quiet And The Confusion Of My Heart.

The Man In Ecstasy And The Man Drowning: Both Raise Their Arms.

People Who Walk Across Dark Bridges, Past Saints, With Dim, Small Lights. Clouds Which Move Across Gray Skies Past Churches With Towers Darkened In The Dusk. One Who Leans Against Granite Railing Gazing Into The Evening Waters, His Hands Resting On Old Stones.

Written Kisses Never Arrive At Their Destination; The Ghosts Drink Them Up Along The Way.