I'm going to start with a poem called Ballares.
"My room beaming in the dark, I began my journey
as if trees were furniture.
I never believed in anything.
I walked through walls like Jesus.
The children believed in me, which still causes heartache.
I made my way and my various names.
I skipped as if nothing, as if existed no implements of harm.
As a child sat by Long Island Sound
on a particular rock and now irretrievable.
And now it is of myself I feel compelled.
Glowing in the dark, some sort of branch bright
ellipses running toward the rocking sea.
How many times did I behold the ship, its billowing,
its treasures, its sentences of hard gold?
Pick up any book and it is all written down.
Everything returns to the sleep of itself."