Poetry is a projection across silence of cadences arranged to break that silence with definite intentions of echoes, syllables, wave lengths.

My room for books and study or for sitting and thinking about nothing in particular to see what would happen was at the end of a hall.

Time is a sandpile we run our fingers in.

I fell in love, not deep, but I fell several times and then fell out.

I was up day and night with Lincoln for years. I couldn't have picked a better companion.

The sea speaks a language polite people never repeat. It is a colossal scavenger slang and has no respect.

Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.