What I heard was my whole self saying and singing what it knew: I can.

Every day, every day I hear enough to fill a year of nights with wondering.

One of the obligations of the writer is to say or sing all that he or she can, to deal with as much of the world as becomes possible to him or her in language.

There's in my mind a... turbulent moon-ridden girl or old woman, or both, dressed in opals and rags, feathers and torn taffeta, who knows strange songs but she is not kind.

The poem has a social effect of some kind whether or not the poet wills it to have. It has a kenetic force, it sets in motion...elements in the reader that would otherwise remain stagnant.

Two girls discover the secret of life in a sudden line of poetry.

Marvelous Truth, confront us at every turn, in every guise.