Loving is a journey with water and with stars, with smothered air and abrupt storms of flour: loving is a clash of lightning-bolts and two bodies defeated by a single drop of honey.

You are like nobody since I love you.

You are like night, calmed, constellated. Your silence is star-like, as distant, as true.

I built up these lumber piles of love, and with fourteen boards each I built little houses, so that your eyes, which I adore and sing to, might live in them. Now that I have declared the foundations of my love, I surrender this century to you: wooden sonnets that rise only because you gave them life.

I love you only because it's you the one I love; I hate you deeply, and hating you Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.

The typewriter separated me from a deeper intimacy with poetry, and my hand brought me closer to that intimacy again.

I want to see thirst In the syllables, Tough fire In the sound; Feel through the dark For the scream.