I've learned that my readings of others' work often has little connection to their intentions. This doesn't mean that my response is wrong, and it doesn't make the author's views less right. Poets, like their poems, are "hopeful monsters".

Silence is so steadfast, you know. It is so ample, after all.

While you’re alive there’s no time for minor amazements.

Anguish is the universal language.

Emotion is the best mnemonic device.

Much contemporary verse reads like failed short-short stories rather than failed poetry.

Even when I’m in the dark I’m in the dark with you.