A Light Exists In Spring Not Present

The Steeples Swam In Amethyst, The News Like Squirrels Swam.

When He Tells Us About His Father, We Distrust Him. When He Shows Us His Home, We Turn Away, But When He Confides To Us That He Is Acquainted With Grief, We Listen, For That Also Is An Acquaintance Of Our Own.

I'll Tell You How The Sun Rose, A Ribbon At A Time. The Steeples Swam In Amethyst, The News Like Squirrels Ran. The Hills Untied Their Bonnets, The Bobolinks Begun. Then I Said Softly To Myself, "that Must Have Been The Sun!

If I Read A Book And It Makes My Whole Body So Cold No Fire Can Warm Me, I Know That Is Poetry. If I Feel Physically As If The Top Of My Head Were Taken Off, I Know That Is Poetry. These Are The Only Ways I Know It. Is There Any Other Way?

Faith-is The Pierless Bridge Supporting What We See Unto The Scene That We Do Not.