Poetry is the opening and closing of a door, leaving those who look through to guess about what is seen during the moment.

The greatest cunning is to have none at all.

I take you and pile high the memories. Death will break her claws on some I keep.

Poetry is a tracing of the trajectories of a finite sound to the infinite points of its echoes.

My name is Truth and I am the most elusive captive in the universe.

Money is power, freedom, a cushion, the root of all evil, the sum of blessings.

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.