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

The stars are filming us for no one.

I still read Donne, particularly his love poems

Poets deal in writing about feelings and trying to find the language and images for intense feelings.

She stood upon a continent of ice, which sparkled between sea and sky, endless and dazzling, as though the world kept all its treasure there; a scale which balanced poetry and prayer.

If we think of what's up ahead, with climate change and wars over water, it's very frightening.

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