The sea is always the same: and yet the sea always changes.

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

Lips half-willing in a doorway. Lips half-singing at a window. Eyes half-dreaming in the walls. Feet half-dancing in a kitchen. Even the clocks half-yawn the hours And the farmers make half-answers.

Yesterday and tomorrow cross and mix on the skyline. The two are lost in a purple haze. One forgets, one waits.

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

Poetry is a theorem of a yellow-silk handkerchief knotted with riddles, sealed in a balloon tied to the tail of a kite flying in a white wind against a blue sky in spring.

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