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.

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

The stars are filming us for no one.

Poets sing our human music for us.

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

My prose is turgid, it just hasn't got any energy

I am always pleased to be asked to write a poem.