Saints have no moderation, nor do poets, just exuberance.
I think of myself as writing for one person, that one perfect reader who understands and loves.
The body is a damn hard thing to kill.
The snow has quietness in it; no songs, no smells, no shouts or traffic. When I speak my own voice shocks me.
Today God gives milk / and I have the pail.
Today life opened inside me like an egg.