The stars are filming us for no one.

Time hates love, wants love poor,/but love spins gold, gold, gold from straw.

I'll be left writing picture books and fairy tales

How would you prepare to die on a perfect April evening?

I like to use simple words, but in a complicated way.

I have piles of poetry books in the bathroom, on the stairs, everywhere. The only way to write poetry is to read it.

I see the shape of the poem before I start writing, and the writing is just the process of arriving at the shape.