Poetry is the harnessing of the paradox of earth cradling life and then entombing it.
Hope is an echo, hope ties itself yonder, yonder.
Be careful with your words, once they are said, they can only be forgiven, not forgotten.
Tell no man anything, for no man listens Yet hold thy lips ready to speak.
Poetry is the establishment of a metaphorical link between white butterfly-wings and the scraps of torn-up love-letters.
It was here we turned the coffee cups upside down. And your eyes and the moon swept the valley.