The world is not with us enough. O taste and see.

You have come to the shore. There are no instructions.

Let me walk through the fields of paper touching with my wand dry stems and stunted butterflies.

There is no savor more sweet, more salt than to be glad to be what, woman, and who, myself, I am.

I'm not very good at praying, but what I experience when I'm writing a poem is close to prayer.

It is fatal to one's artistic life to talk about something that is in process.

I like to find what's not found at once, but lies within something of another nature, in repose, distinct.