Those were the long afternoons when poetry left me. The river flowed patiently, nudging lazy boats to sea Long afternoons, the coast of

Between the computer, a pencil, and a typewriter half my day passes. One day it will be half a century. I live in strange cities and sometimes

Try to praise the mutilated world. Remember June\'s long days, and wild strawberries, drops of wine, the dew. The nettles that methodically

Don\'t allow the lucid moment to dissolve Let the radiant thought last in stillness though the page is almost filled and the flame flickers We