I glory in this world of men and women, torn with troubles, yet living on to love and laugh through it all.

Come clean with a child heart Laugh as peaches in the summer wind Let rain on a house roof be a song Let the writing on your face be a smell of apple orchards on late June.

An ambition is a little creeper that creeps and creeps in your heart night and day, singing a little song, "Come and find me, come and find me."

Time is a sandpile we run our fingers in.

Poetry is a diary kept by a sea creature who lives on land and wishes he could fly.

Nothing happens unless first we dream.

Poetry is a kinetic arrangement of static syllables.