All the twirling twisted edges
of nature are gathered...

Magic is nothing more
than, merely, a soul...

The quiet sigh
that rushes from my parted lips...

Tonight, I miss you terribly.
Stupid little things...

The world presents itself, framed and unreal
stained like a canvas in sandstone and steel...

The
sinuous...

I know that my certainties are
as capricious as the sky...

My self blooms
along with the world...

The church was arched
with white and gold, pillared with...

The inane questions are wonderful.
"Why didn't Descartes consider that God could...

As winter shuffles in and stomps its boots,
and autumn, fleeing, leaves the door agape...

I cannot, I
cannot. Leave. I cannot...