Poetry is sane because it floats easily in an infinite sea; reason seeks to cross the infinite sea, and so make it finite. The result is mental exhaustion. To accept everything is an exercise, to understand everything a strain. ↗
the inlet
our friend looks as he did
when we first knew him,
and until I wake I believe
I will die of grief, for I know
that this boy grew into a man
who was a faithful friend
who died. ↗
We can hear your voice
We can hear it through the songs of praise
We can hear it through the birds
We can hear it through the wind
We can hear your voice in our hearts
We can hear your voice in our minds
We can hear you through everyhing ↗
