Nature is a catchment of sorrows.
Love, we are a small pond.
The tougher the form the easier it is for me to handle the poem, because the form gives permission to be very gut honest about feelings.
Sometimes tradition is a way of keeping going.
One way of ending the poem is to turn it back on itself, like a serpent with its tail in its mouth.
My writing time needs to surround itself with empty stretches, or at least unpeopled ones, for the writing takes place in an area of suspension as in a hanging nest that is almost entirely encapsulated.