I find now, swallowing one teaspoon of pain, that it drops downward to the past where it mixes with last year’s cupful and downward into a decade’s quart and downward into a lifetime’s ocean. I alternate treading water and deadman’s float.

Suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build.

A woman / who loves a woman / is forever young.

When I'm writing, I know I'm doing the thing I was born to do.

Images are probably the most important part of the poem. First of all you want to tell a story, but images are what are going to shore it up and get to the heart of the matter.

The future is a fog that is still hanging out over the sea, a boat that floats home or does not.

The windows, the starving windows that drive the trees like nails into my heart.