The days start to be charged not because tomorrow you're leaving, but because in three weeks you're leaving. The future impinges. So you start to think about the frame.

I'm always somehow drawn to that sense of how fragile things are and how a garden means so differently depending upon whose language you happen to be in or whose century you happen to be in.

I prefer always to think that I am creating a book, not a series of stand-alone poems.

Even your own memory changes over time because of circumstances or even because your body changes.

Language is as fragile as the little alpine plant.

I want literature to open all the doors that I can't open by myself, and to allow me to see things that I wouldn't otherwise see.

Looking out a window from different vantage points changes what you see and therefore what you write.