I had nothing and I was still changed. Like a costume, my numbness was taken away. Then hunger was added.
The love of form is a love of endings.
The soul is silent. If it speaks at all it speaks in dreams.
I am attracted to ellipsis, to the unsaid, to suggestion, to eloquent, deliberate silence. The unsaid, for me, exerts great power: often I wish an entire poem could be made in this vocabulary. It is analogous to the unseen.
The unsaid, for me, exerts great power.
Like a child, the earth's going to sleep, or so the story goes. But I'm not tired, it says. And the mother says, You may not be tired but I'm tired