Practice makes perfect,

But I'm made of a different ingredient.

Don't promise with the part that is broken.

Promise with the light that strikes

At the heart of the deadened place.

It's a kind of grace that makes it plain.

Home is in the space that knows no other way.

There is this "it" at the heart of this thing,

A thing that knows that which is only its own.

It is broken when it is fed the thing unspoken;

The unspoken is always victorious.

You cannot truly speak of beauty.

It only truly speaks of you.