This is the blood's wild tree that grows the intricate and folded rose

We are hungry for more; if we do not consciously pursue the More, we create less for ourselves and make it more difficult to experience More in life.

That impulse I think is a form of love. Poetry is something that comes to you, rather than your having to work out its form beforehand.

Love is a very important part of life, and you have to give in to it. But after a while it ceases to be such an important force in life, and that's the time when you should give in to age and stop doing it, if you don't have the impulse any more.

When not deeply engaged in creative activities, or numbed by the TV, I felt empty and hungry. My heart hurt... I often felt hollow or as if I were some kind of wispy ghost, barely existing.

This is the blood's wild tree that grows the intricate and folded rose

Wisdom can see the red, the rose, the stained and sculptured curve of grey, the charcoal scars of fire, and see around that living tower of tree the hermit tatters of old bark split down and strip to end the season; and can be quiet and not look for reasons past the edge of reason.