She's Never Forgotten, Either, How A Mystery

The Truth Needs So Little Rehearsal.

I Know I Have To Write About The Things That Keep Me Awake At Night.

I Rarely Think Of Poetry As Something I Make Happen; It Is More Accurate To Say That It Happens To Me. Like A Summer Storm, A House Afire, Or The Coincidence Of Both On The Same Day.

This Will Be Great Mam's Last Spring. Her Last June Apples. Her Last Fresh Roasting Ears From The Garden.

The Past Is All We Know Of The Future.