The Poet Lights The Light And Fades

I Felt It Shelter To Speak To You.

Ample Make This Bed. Make This Bed With Awe; In It Wait Till Judgment Break Excellent And Fair. Be Its Mattress Straight, Be Its Pillow Round; Let No Sunrise’ Yellow Noise Interrupt This Ground.

I Dwell In Possibility.

A Dim Capacity For Wings Demeans The Dress I Wear.

His Mind Of Man, A Secret Makes I Meet Him With A Start He Carries A Circumference In Which I Have No Part.