Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination.

One thing I do know is that poetry, to be understood, must be clear.

I GO DOWN TO THE SHORE I go down to the shore in the morning and depending on the hour the waves are rolling in or moving out, and I say, oh, I am miserable, what shall— what should I do? And the sea says in its lovely voice: Excuse me, I have work to do.

Keep some room in your heart for the unimaginable.

At Blackwater Pond the tossed waters have settled after a night of rain. I dip my cupped hands. I drink a long time. It tastes like stone, leaves, fire. It falls cold into my body, waking the bones. I hear them deep inside me, whispering oh what is that beautiful thing that just happened?

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination.

Attention without feeling is only a report.