Flying alone! Nothing gives such a sense of mastery over time over mechanism, mastery indeed over space, time, and life itself, as this.

A poet is not a public figure. A poet should be read and not seen.

High sprits they had: gravity they flouted.

We who fly do so for the love of flying. We are alive in the air with this miracle that lies in our hands and beneath our feet.

Now the peak of summer's past, the sky is overcast And the love we swore would last for an age seems deceit.

We do not write in order to be understood; we write in order to understand.

Selfhood begins with a walking away, And love is proved in letting go.