The single clenched fist lifted and ready, Or the open asking hand held out and waiting. Choose: For we meet by one or the other.

Let a joy keep you. Reach out your hands and take it when it runs by.

Poetry is a fossil rock-print of a fin and a wing, with an illegible oath between.

Poetry is a series of explanations of life, fading off into horizons too swift for explanations.

Poetry is a section of river-fog and moving boat-lights, delivered between bridges and whistles, so one says, 'Oh!' and another, 'How?'

Poetry is the establishment of a metaphorical link between white butterfly-wings and the scraps of torn-up love-letters.

One of the greatest necessities in America is to discover creative solitude.