She stood beside me for years, or was it a moment? I cannot remember. Maybe I loved her, maybe I didn't. There was a house, and then no house. There were trees, but none remain. When no one remembers, what is there? You, whose moments are gone, who drift like smoke in the afterlife, tell me something, tell me anything.

The burial of feelings has begun.

The reality of a poem is a very ghostly one. It suggests, it suggests, it suggests again.

Each moment is a place you've never been.

To open the dictionary of the Beyond and discover what one suspected, that the only word in it is nothing.

For some of us, the less said about the way we do things the better.

When I walk I part the air and always the air moves in to fill the spaces where my body's been.