My poems are more my silence than my speech. Just as music is a kind of quiet. Sounds are needed only to unveil the various layers of silence.

Where your pain is, there your heart lies also.

Even a painful longing is some form of presence.

I don’t write poetry when I wish, I write when I can’t, when my larynx is flooded and my throat is shut.

I have no talent. I write poems for myself, to think things through, that’s all.

Writing down your thoughts is both necessary and harmful. It leads to eccentricity, narcissism, preserves what should be let go. On the other hand, these notes intensify the inner life, which, left unexpressed, slips through your fingers. If only I could find a better kind of journal, humbler, one that would preserve the same thoughts, the same flesh of life, which is worth saving.

There are things better left untouched by words.