I regret the way pain has taught me nothing.

I have dreamed of our bed as if it were a shore where we would be washed up, not this striped mattress we must cover with sheets. [from "After an Absence"]

Poetry is not a code to be broken but a way of seeing with the eyes shut.

Spring is the shortest season.

I regret the way pain has taught me nothing.

Grief is a circular staircase.

What we want is never simple.