I basked in you;I loved you, helplessly, with a boundless tongue-tied love.And death doesn’t prevent me from loving you.Besides, in my opinion you aren’t dead.(I know dead people, and you are not dead.)

literature will lose, sunlight will win, don’t worry.

This is no occupation for an adult who can look other adults in the eye, carry his own weight, and count himself one of them.

Poem in other words may or may not result from inspiration but must (in reader and author alike) produce it–

If only I could tell someone.The humiliation I go throughwhen I think of my pastcan only be described as grace.We are created by being destroyed.