I write abundantly. And then my next step is to struggle to reduce the ornament, to reduce the abundance-to prune the book, in other words, the way one prunes a tree-so it can grow. This is my idea of a book.

Suddenly I realize That if I stepped out of my body I would break Into blossom.

It goes without saying that a fine short poem can have the resonance and depth of an entire novel.

Look: I am nothing. I do not even have ashes to rub into my eyes.

Most of the pollution in the water already is dead animal and plant matter and building debris, ... good stagnant nursery for mosquitoes.

Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy’s Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota

I close my eyes, and think of water.