Knowledge is the harvest of attention

I'm trying to climb up both walls at once.

There is a grace of life which is still yours, my dear Europe.

We all want what's been suddenly disallowed.

This morning of the small snow I count the blessings, the leak in the faucet which makes of the sink time, the drop of the water on water.

A poem is energy transferred from where the poet got it (he will have some several causations), by way of the poem itself to, all the way over to, the reader.

I take space to be the central fact to man born in America. I spell it large because it comes large here. Large and without mercy.