The moon is a friend for the lonesome to talk to.

And all poets love dust and mist because all the last answers. Go running back to dust and mist.

Poetry is a packsack of invisible keepsakes.

Gather the stars if you wish it so Gather the songs and keep them. Gather the faces of women. Gather for keeping years and years. And then... Loosen your hands, let go and say good-bye. Let the stars and songs go. Let the faces and years go. Loosen your hands and say good-bye.

I doubt if you can have a truly wild party without liquor.

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 echo, asking a shadow to dance.