Because of the dog’s joyfulness, our own is increased. It is no small gift.

Poetry isn't a profession, it's a way of life. It's an empty basket; you put your life into it and make something out of that.

If I've done my work well, I vanish completely from the scene. I believe it is invasive of the work when you know too much about the writer.

It doesn't have to be the blue iris, it could be weeds in a vacant lot, or a few small stones; just pay attention, then patch a few words together and don't try to make them elaborate, this isn't a contest but the doorway into thanks, and a silence in which another voice may speak.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine

Sunrise What is the name of the deep breath I would take over and over for all of us? Call it whatever you want, it is happiness, it is another one of the ways to enter fire.

And I do not want anymore to be useful, to be docile, to lead / children out of the fields into the text / of civility, to teach them that they are (they are not) better than the grass.