Status Updates From Hojas de Hierba

Of the turbid pool that lies in the autumn forest,
Of the moon that descends the steeps of the soughing twilight,
Toss, sparkles of day and dusk -- toss on the black stems that decay in the muck,
Toss to the moaning gibberish of the dry limbs.

p.4/530. As I Ponder’d in Silence

p.3/530 (repaginated). Book 1. Inscriptions. One’s-Self I Sing.

Don’t recommend as an audio book.

"The soul, / Forever and forever—longer than soil is brown and solid—longer than water ebbs and flows. // I will make poems of materials, for I think they are to be the most spiritual poems,/And I will make the pome sof my body of mortality, / For I think I shall then supply myself with the poms of my soul and of immortality."