Looking at the sky last night and the moon in the first fresh dark, just a few stars, bright with their cold flares, I had a little crumpled thought, 'Oh well, the moon. It's just another place like California.' One's imagination drags its feet as we are inexorably hauled into the future.

The aim of the poet, or other artist, is first to make something; and it's impossible to make something out of words and not communicate

What are the questions you wish to ask?

Looking at the sky last night and the moon in the first fresh dark, just a few stars, bright with their cold flares, I had a little crumpled thought, 'Oh well, the moon. It's just another place like California.' One's imagination drags its feet as we are inexorably hauled into the future.

I wish i could press snowflakes in a book like flowers.

However, if a poem can be reduced to a prose sentence, there can't be much to it.

I do not usually revise much, though I often cut, particularly the end or toward the end of a poem