This rose became a bandanna, which became a house, which became infused with all passion, which became a hideaway, which became yes I would like to have dinner, which became hands, which became lands, shores, beaches, natives on the stones, staring and wild beasts in the trees, chasing the hats of lost hunters, and all this deserves a tone.

Summer in the trees! “It is time to strangle several bad poets.

I certainly have the feeling that I'm the same person even though I've changed a great deal.

Poetry, which is written while no one is looking, is meant to be looked at for all time.

The subject matter of the stories on the surface... there seem to be a number of stories about travel.

I'm a writer who likes to be influenced.

It's enormously cheering to get a good review by someone who seems to understand your work.