When one reads such words as these one thinks, what is poetry? One's ability to grasp, to throttle, to soothe and nurture the pain and suffering, joy and disappointment of what it is to be a human and witness them transformed into visceral colors as spoken by a poet. Wonderful piece.

The 'tonnage of ruins' in one's past of which you speak is a plague your pen can cure for many.

To forgive oneself, others, the fates ... therein lies the rub.

Great piece. I shall read it again as I watch the sun rise above Tokyo this morning. An offering of your words to the a new day. Thank you. k