I Hunger For Your Sleek Laugh And

We Came By Night To The Fortunate Isles, And Lay Like Fish Under The Net Of Our Kisses.

On Our Earth, Before Writing Was Invented, Before The Printing Press Was Invented, Poetry Flourished. That Is Why We Know That Poetry Is Like Bread; It Should Be Shared By All, By Scholars And By Peasants, By All Our Vast, Incredible, Extraordinary Family Of Humanity.

Girl Lithe And Tawny, The Sun That Forms The Fruits, That Plumps The Grains, That Curls Seaweeds Filled Your Body With Joy, And Your Luminous Eyes And Your Mouth That Has The Smile Of The Water. A Black Yearning Sun Is Braided Into The Strands Of Your Black Mane, When You Stretch Your Arms. You Play With The Sun As With A Little Brook And It Leaves Two Dark Pools In Your Eyes.

And One By One The Nights Between Our Separated Cities Are Joined To The Night That Unites Us.

I Am A Book Of Snow, A Spacious Hand, An Open Meadow, A Circle That Waits, I Belong To The Earth And Its Winter.