It is the body
That remembers with no strain:
it hardly does to trust
the brain-poor thing
...
We are
Sharply different
Each from each
Something within us insists
...
You cannot know
For you will be dead
When the fleeting hint
Of perfume's shed
...
Think you the dandelion have thoughts of self improvement?
tries perhaps to be more like the peonies
dreams of just once being in the flower show
and dazzling all who go
...
Nothing but a spiders web of nerves
Expecting flies and payment for ones labor
Or someone cold into a warm spot sinking
To wrap in a quilt of bliss
...
Yearnings unexplored
By dint of habit
Can become such cruel entrapment
...
Walk out does not mean
To walk free
Let the magician tell you
About the silver cord
...
Petulant child,
what was it you thought
You would be given?
What far universe,
...
I did not say
I have come home
I stood beside the fence
...