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With wine and being lost, withless and less of both:I rode through the snow, do you read meI rode God far--I rode Godnear, he sang,it wasour last ride...more

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Each arrow you shoot offcarries its own targetinto the decidedlysecrettangle

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rush of pine scent (once upon a time),the unlicensed convictionthere ought to be another wayof sayingthis.

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Don't sign your namebetween worlds,surmountthe manifold of meanings,trust the tearstain,learn to live.

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How you die out in me:down to the lastworn-out knot of breathyou're there, with a splinter of life.