I pray-for word is out And prayer comes round again- That I may seem, though I die old, A foolish, passionate man.

God guard me from those thoughts men think In the mind alone; He that sings a lasting song Thinks in a marrow-bone.

Whence had they come, The hand and lash that beat down frigid Rome? What sacred drama through her body heaved When world-transforming Charlemagne was conceived…

Seek out reality, leave things that seem.

I wonder if I could have been here before as I drive up the Roman road the Theater seems familiar - perhaps I headed a legion up that same white road... I pass…

It's odd but even when I was a kid, I would write about 'old and other times' as though I had a lot of years behind me. Now I do, so there is a difference in t…

All of us have a place in history. Mine is clouds.