Such a Big miracle in such a tiny baby. Big things often have small beginnings A baby is God's opinion that life should go on.

And how should a beautiful, ignorant stream of water know it heads for an early release — out across the desert, running toward the Gulf, below sea level, to murmur its lullaby, and see the Imperial Valley rise out of burning sand with cotton blossoms, wheat, watermelons, roses, how should it know?

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.

Poetry is an art practiced with the terribly plastic material of human language.

In the night the cabbages catch at the moon, the leaves drip silver, the rows of cabbages are a series of little silver waterfalls in the moon.

I have become infected, now that I see how beautifully a book is coming out of all this.

A tough will counts. So does desire.So does a rich soft wanting.Without rich wanting nothing arrives.