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.

I close my eyes, and think of water.

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

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

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

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

There is this cave In the air behind my body That nobody is going to touch: A cloister, a silence Closing around a blossom of fire. When I stand upright in the wind, My bones turn to dark emeralds.