I shall try to write a poem that is about the moment but doesn't betray things that are true to me as a poet.

But Wordsworth is the poet I admire above all others.

Each sudden gust of light explains itself as flames, but neither they, nor even bombs redoubled on the hills tonight can quite include me in their fear.

But in a lot of ways my poems are very conventional, and it's no big deal for me to write a poem in either free verse or strict form; modern poets can, and do, do both.

Honor the miraculousness of the ordinary.

But I can't and don't ever want to write bell-yanking confetti-tossing hat-throwing poems.

I write between 5.30am and 9.00. That way, I hope I carry over something from my dream time.