Enough small empty boxes thrown into a big empty box fill it full.

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.

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

Now is the time. It is never too late to start something.

The dead hold in their hands only what they have given away.

Poetry is the harnessing of the paradox of earth cradling life and then entombing it.

Poetry is the journal of a sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air.