Alike and ever alike, we are on all continents in the need of love, food, clothing, work, speech, worship, sleep, games, dancing, fun. From tropics to arctics humanity live with these needs so alike, so inexorably alike.

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.

Poetry is the cipher key to the five mystic wishes packed in a hollow silver bullet fed to a flying fish.

Whenever a people or an institution forget its hard beginnings, it is beginning to decay.

Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo. Shovel them under and let me work- I am the grass; I cover all. And pile them high at Gettysburg. And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun. Shovel them under and let me work. Two years, ten years,and passengers ask the conductor- What place is this? Where are we now? I am the grass. Let me work.

We had two grand antique professors who had been teaching at Lombard since before I was born.

Poetry is a sky dark with a wild-duck migration.