Let there be a heaven so that man may outlive his grasses.
Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard.
... and my love stays bitterly glowing, spasms of it will not sleep, and I am helpless and thirsty and need shade but there is no one to cover me- not even God.
Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself, Counting this row and that row of moccasins Waiting on the silent shelf.
I hoard books. They are people who do not leave.
Images are the heart of poetry ... You're not a poet without imagery.