Once you start describing nothingness, you end up with somethingness.
Ink runs from the corners of my mouth. There is no happiness like mine. I have been eating poetry.
The reality of a poem is a very ghostly one. It suggests, it suggests, it suggests again.
I tend to like poems that engage me - that is to say, which do not bore me.
Even this late it happens: the coming of love, the coming of light.
A great many people seem to think writing poetry is worthwhile, even though it pays next to nothing and is not as widely read as it should be.