Poetry is the journal of the sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air. Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable. Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.

Let the gentle bush dig its root deep and spread upward to split the boulder.

A baby is God's opinion that life should go on.

Poetry is a tracing of the trajectories of a finite sound to the infinite points of its echoes.

To be a good loser is to learn how to win.

Poetry is a shuffling of boxes of illusions buckled with a strap of facts.

A liar goes in fine clothes, a liar goes in rags, a liar is a liar, clothes or no clothes.